


Gravity

by SlytherinsQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry is a girl, Violence, girl!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 187,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsQuill/pseuds/SlytherinsQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Harry Potter was born a girl and known as Rosalie Potter? How might it change the dynamics of life as the most famous teenager in the Wizarding World? At the end of Rosalie Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, war has broken out in the Wizarding World as a result the attack on Hogwarts. Forced to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place for her own safety, Rosalie learns more about herself and the people around her than she ever thought possible. Relationships form, friendships change and she learns just how much the people in your life influence who you are and who you have the potential to become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi all! This is my first HP-verse fanfiction! This is a repost from other sites as I have posted elsewhere. It's a WIP currently that I am just returning to after an enforced break due to real life dramas, but I am back writing again now which is very exciting. I hope you all enjoy it. Just something for you to consider while reading, while I've read over this for spelling and grammar, etc myself, I currently don't have a beta reader, so I apologise if I've missed anything.
> 
> In this story Harry was born a girl. He will stay a girl throughout, but most of what happened in all the books up the end of the sixth book stay true to the plot. I'm not going to give you a background to the plot because you should be able to pick most of it up from the story line.
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)  
> ~Quill
> 
>  
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 
> 
> *********************************************************

****

****

**Prologue**

Rosalie Potter shivered as she stared down at the body lying motionless before her. Dead. Lifeless. His blood slowly leaking out from the fatal would in his neck to form a pool beneath him on her bedroom floor. Every time she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, something happened to prove her wrong. She didn’t know who the man was—he was a Death Eater, yes, but not one she recognised—but he didn’t think she’d ever forget his face after tonight; still caught in an expression twisted halfway between a cruel smirk and stunned surprise. She thought, perhaps, he hadn’t expected the knife she’d pulled on him, or her willingness to use it. She thought, perhaps, he’d never had a chance. He’d never seen it coming.

She’d awoken from a dead sleep in a state of full-fledged panic to hear the muted sounds of a fight being waged in her Aunt and Uncle’s backyard and flashes of light—reds, yellows, _greens_ —illuminating her room. Her eyes darted to her door as her fingers scrabbled for the wand she always kept beside her bed, but he was already in her room, her wand in his hands, smiling menacingly at her from out of the shadows. She made to bolt, but he was on top of her before she’d fully comprehended the fact that _Death Eaters_ were in her house, had somehow breached the wards that were meant to keep her safe and protected. 

His hands had closed around her throat with a disturbing effortlessness, one big hand spaning practically the width of her neck as he pushed her back into the bed. His eyes were crazed as he reached for the clasp of his pants rather than his wand and she had to bite back a sob of terror as she struggled to free herself. Why did they always try to degrade her before they tried killed her? Would it have been the same if she’d been the Boy-Who-Lived rather than the Girl? She remembered Lucius Malfoy on top of her in much the same manner in the Department of Mysteries after he’d succeeded in separating her from her friends. She’d been lucky then, he’d been interrupted as the Order had arrived and Malfoy had been distracted enough for her to wriggle free of him before he’d managed to get his pants all the way undone. But the look in the man’s eyes above her told her nothing was going to distract him from his goal and stop him from taking exactly what he wanted from her tonight. 

Small bursts of light were starting to appear before her eyes as the pressure on her throat slowly but surely cut off her air supply. She heard the metallic rasp of a zipper, a rustle of robes and a hot breath waft across her face as she desperately fought to maintain a hold on her consciousness and fight him off at the same time. His free hand was on her thigh, yanking up the material of her short nightgown as her hand slipped under her pillow and closed around the knife she’d told herself she was paranoid for keeping there.

She almost sobbed with relief as she curled her fist around the handle and tried to ignore the putrid rasp of the man’s tongue as he swiped it across her lips and up the side of her face. Oblivion called to her as fumbling fingers fondled her through her underwear before rising to commence a rapid descent down her stomach to the waistband of her underpants, but she fought its clutches, desperate to hang on for the right moment.

Rosalie plunged the knife into his neck the same moment he’d torn her underpants free from her body. His body jerked on top of hers in surprise, his hold on her throat instantly loosening as his hands flew to his neck and she gasped in air greedily tears as streamed from her eyes. He was making a horrible choking noise and a nauseating gurgling sound was bubbling up from his mouth as blood began to dribble from suddenly lax lips. She whimpered as it flowed from his chin thickly, landing on her chest and soaking through the thin material of her nightgown. 

She felt her stomach roll in protest.

Rosalie cringed as she felt his body go limp, a dead weight on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs once more. Summoning up a strength she hadn’t known she possessed she got her hands underneath him and pushed. He rolled off of her and felt to the floor with a dull wet thud. Dead. Lifeless. Gone, even though blood still pumped from his neck.

Skittering off of her bed she fled across the room to where her wand had fallen, pressing her back into the doors of her cupboard defensively as she stared at the dead man on her floor. A pool of blood was forming underneath him, fanning out to halo around his head. Aunt Petunia would be furious! Her aunt’s pristine floors would never be the same again. 

She tried not to gag as she spied her wand lying on the floor not far from the body and bent to scoop it up. Her hand was slippery with blood, but she clutched at it tightly, unwilling to relinquish it even for a moment. She knew she should move, get out of there before anyone else came looking for her, but she couldn’t seem to stop looking at the dead man on her floor. 

‘Move,’ she told herself mentally, ‘Get out of here, Rose, while you still can.’

She shrieked—a hoarse, grating noise—as the door to her room was flung open loudly and a dark figure filled the doorway imposingly. She raised her wand and pointed it at the figure.

“ _Expell_ —”

“Potter?” Dark silky tones called to her, his tone unusually strained—anxious.

Snape. 

He tore the white Death Eater mask from his face as he stepped over the threshold to her room, no doubt taking in the scene before him. Dead man on the floor with her kitchen knife still imbedded in his neck, blood on the sheets, blood on the floor, blood soaking the front of her nightgown and hands, her white underpants torn and lying tellingly on the floor beside the body, his fingers still clutching them in death. Blood. Blood. Blood. 

Who knew so much blood could come from one person? It was everywhere…

“Potter?” He questioned again, tearing his eyes away from the scene. 

She swallowed, her throat protesting at the movement. She could feel the ring of bruises already forming on her neck. Slowly she lowered her wand.

“Professor?” She croaked. 

His eyes seemed to pierce her, dark and fathomless, “We must go.”

She nodded vaguely even as her eyes were drawn back to the dead Death Eater lying on her bedroom floor.

“Potter!”

She jumped about a foot in the air, staring up at Snape as he loomed over her suddenly. 

“He’s dead and it’s nothing more than he deserved. Now move,” He told her, hand firmly on her shoulder propelling her forward and out of the room.

“My things,” She protested her voice little more than a strained whisper. 

Snape kept the steady pressure on her shoulder, preventing her from turning back, “They’re not important, we need to get you Grimmauld Place. Someone will come back for them.”

Snape led her through the house without pause. They passed another body on the stairs and Rosalie couldn’t help but stare at it with wide eyes. She barely remembered making their way through the rest of the house, and suddenly they were standing in the backyard of Number 4 Privet Drive.

“Where is Albus?” Snape asked abruptly, and it took Rosalie a moment to realise he wasn’t speaking to her. 

Alastor Moody was standing before them surveying the damage and carnage around them. Rosalie didn’t want to think about who the bodies around her might belong to, or whether any of them were Order members, or ex-Hogwarts students who’d defected at the end of the previous year when Draco had let Death Eater’s into the school. She didn’t want to think about the blood that was slowly drying on her skin sticking her nightgown to her chest uncomfortably. This all had to be some nightmare, some horrible nightmare which she would wake up from any minute sweating and panting into the still night air of her bedroom, her uncle banging on the wall for her to ‘shut up’ because she’d unconsciously been screaming.

Except it wasn’t, and she could never be so lucky.

Rosalie shivered. She felt cold inside despite the summer heat that still lingered in the night air and realized suddenly that her hands were trembling noticeably. 

She startled as a heavy weight suddenly settled itself around her shoulders engulfing her in comforting warmth and the scent sandalwood. She looked up at Snape as her professor tucked the copious folds of his robes around her shoulders dispassionately, his attention still seemingly focused on the ex-Auror before them.

Surprised Rosalie drew the material of his robes in tighter, allowing herself to practically burrow down into the warmth and sense of wellbeing they exuded.

“He followed the others to the Burrow, with any luck they’ll have got there in time. Said he’d meet you back at Headquarters,” The battle scarred ex-Auror told Snape plainly before turning his gaze on her, “Poppy’s there on standby.”

Snape nodded and accepted the portkey that was pressed into his hand. Rosalie looked up at him again as he took her hand in his, clasping them together tightly. She stared at him in confusion for a moment before she registered the feel of something digging into her palm, then she felt the telltale pull behind her bellybutton and the backyard fell away.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter One**

They landed with a jolt in the front entrance of Grimmauld Place. Rosalie stumbled as her knees threatened to give out from beneath her, yet she couldn’t seem to muster the will to care. A strong hand appeared under her arm just as she thought she might collapse and she looked up to see Snape eyeing her as he might an obscure potions ingredient. She wondered if he thought she was crazy? Or perhaps just stupid? But she just felt numb—fuzzy—like all her senses were wrapped up in cottonwool keeping the rest of the world at bay. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. It was as if she were watching the events that were going on around her rather than living them, somehow disconnected from everything. She thought it was possible that she might be in shock.

Rosalie flinched as she looked down and saw the blood that was beginning to dry and grow sticky on her clothing—her skin.

“Come along,” Snape prompted, giving her a gentle nudge forward with the arm he had looped under hers, holding her upright. His grip was strong and sure and for once in her life she didn’t question his help, instead she accepted the support he offered and allowed herself to lean into his strength.

Rosalie nodded absently and made her feet move forward. She focused her energies on putting one foot in front of the other, watching the thin moth-eaten carpet disappear under her feet as she made her way through the dark halls of the house. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of Madame Pomfrey as the mediwitch checked her over that the fog began to lift and she began to absorb the world around her a little bit again. She pushed at the mediwitch’s hands as the woman ran a barrage of scans and charms over her.

“I’m fine,” Rosalie mumbled.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a sceptical look.

Oddly enough, however, she _was_ fine despite what she’d been through. She wasn’t hurt—not really, anyway—her throat hurt and it was difficult to talk or swallow, but on the whole she’d once again managed to escape relatively unscathed. Maybe Snape was right, maybe it _was_ sheer luck that keep seeing her through all these ‘situations’ she kept finding herself in. Maybe it was luck that allowed her to escape unharmed, unlike the man who’d attacked her...

Rosalie felt something in her stomach tighten uncomfortably.

Merlin, she’d killed a man. She’d _killed_ someone. He’d been trying to rape her and he’d probably have tried to kill her too, but still...

All of a sudden she felt sick and mumbled something to that effect before she was doubled over purging herself of what felt like every meal she’d ever eaten. Madame Pomfrey barely managed to take a step back in time as vomit began to redecorate the floor and Rosalie felt bad for not giving her better warning. The mediwitch rubbed her back soothingly and held her hair back until she was finished, though, before vanishing the vomit without a second glance. 

Rosalie felt cold and shivery and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Perhaps it was the fact that she was standing around in nothing but one of Dudley’s old oversized t-shirts, now used as a nightgown, that was soft from years of use and more than likely threadbare in parts. She felt her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, acutely aware of the fact that not only was she now wearing no knickers, but the t-shirt only hung to mid-thigh. Suddenly she missed the comfort and modesty of Snape’s cloak with an astounding intensity, wishing she hadn’t handed it back to him quite so soon. Squirming in embarrassment she tried to tug the t-shirt down to cover more of her legs. 

“Do you think I could shower now, Madame Pomfrey? I’d like to change and wash some of this...blood off of me,” She croaked out awkwardly. 

“Of course, but first drink this potion, it will help reduce some of the swelling around your throat and ease the pain a little. When you’re done, come back and I’ll apply some bruise salve.”

Rosalie swallowed the potion dutifully, sighing with almost immediate relief, “Thank you.”

The mediwitch nodded, eyeing her shrewdly. 

“Before you go, Professor Snape mentioned—” Madame Pomfrey cut herself off, seeming to rethink her choice of wording before beginning again, “Rose, I’m going to ask you something difficult and I need for you answer me truthfully.”

Rosalie nodded warily.

“Did that Death Eater rape you?” Madame Pomfrey asked plainly, not one to mince her words, “My scans show no evidence of it, but...”

Rosalie felt mortification flood her cheeks, “What?”

“You’ve blood on your thighs, dear, and considering the circumstances and state in which Professor Snape found you, we were concerned—”

“No.” Rosalie interrupted, “No! He didn’t—He didn’t touch me.” 

Madame Pomfrey held her gaze for long moments, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” She whispered out, her voice desperate and strained, “Yes, I’m sure.”

The older witch nodded and Rosalie fled from the room like a Hungarian Horntail was on her heels.

She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her as she barrel into the room and pressed her back up against the wood. Her breath was coming in heaving pants and she couldn’t seem to bring it back under control. It was too much, it was all _too much_. No, he hadn’t touched her, not in any way that it counted, but it had come close—too close—and then she’d killed him.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob that was threatening to tear free only to reel back again in disgust when she realised that her hands were still covered in dried blood. His blood. Merlin, it was all over her!

Suddenly she was desperate to be clean again. 

Tearing the t-shirt she wore from her body, wincing as she felt it peel away from her skin, Rosalie threw herself into the shower stall. The water was ice cold, but she gritted her teeth and turned it on full blast, ignoring the fact that she was shivering violently under the steady pounding stream. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin felt raw and tender and the water no longer ran pink. She barely registered the fact that she was sobbing loudly, tears pouring down her cheeks mingling with the steady flow of water from the shower. 

Rosalie felt her knees give out from underneath her and she let herself sink down the wall slowly, pulling her knees into her chest and letting her head fall onto her arms where she stayed as the icy sheets of water rained down atop of her. 

 

 

“Rose?”

Someone was pounding on the door, calling her name loudly. Rosalie blinked and lifted her head. She was still in the shower, the water still pounding down around her in icy sheets. Her teeth were chattering loudly and her body quaking under fine tremors. How long had she been in there?

“Rosalie! I’m coming in, alright?”

She barely looked up as the door flew open and Hermione rushed in.

“Rosalie!” she heard her friend gasp loudly, “Ginny go get Madame Pomfrey!”

Suddenly the stream of water stopped and Rosalie looked up to see her friend hovering over her, her face creased with worry, tears shimmering in her eyes. Tears for her? Tears because of her? She probably looked horrible. She was cold and pale, the bruises that ringed her neck standing out against the pallor of her skin in stark relief.

“Come on, let’s get you out of there,” The other witch whispered in a wobbly voice. 

Rosalie allowed herself to be pulled up off of the floor and out of the shower. A large fluffy towel was wrapped around her, its rough texture irritating on her tender skin. It felt oddly warm against her frigid body though, and she wondered if someone had cast a warming charm over it. 

“It’s okay,” Hermione was whispering over and over as she stood behind her trying to towel dry her long hair, “Oh, Rose.”

“Miss Potter!” Madame Pomfrey gasped as she entered the tiny bathroom; Mrs. Weasley and Ginny close on her heels. “Dear Merlin, child. You’re like an iceblock.”

“Rosalie, sweetie, are you okay?” Mrs. Weasley whispered as she wrapped her in a surprising gentle hug, “You’ve scrubbed yourself raw!”

“Miss Weasley, if you could run downstairs and retrieve the Burn Salve, Bruise Slave, a Calming Draught and some Dreamless Sleep from my supplies please and then bring them back here, we’ll see about getting Miss Potter into bed.” Madame Pomfrey requested gently.

“I’m okay,” Rosalie whispered suddenly as Ginny dashed from the room once more.

“Yes, that is _overwhelmingly_ apparent,” Madame Pomfrey chided gently.

Rosalie let herself be herded across the hall and into the bedroom she shared with Hermione the previous summer by the three remaining women and found herself tucked under magically warmed covers in short order.

“Now, Miss Potter, when Miss Weasley returns with the potions I’ve requested we will apply the necessary salves and then you will rest. You are in shock, which is understandable, but clearly I should have kept a closer eye on you. Trying to freeze yourself to death in the shower is not healthy behaviour, which you might have realised had you been in your right mind. A good night sleep will do the world of good.”

Rosalie didn’t feel the need to protest, nodding her head sedately. She so rarely slept and slept well that potion-induced sleep sounded wonderful; to be able to close her eyes and drift away from the rest of the world, forget that anything that night had ever happened sounded wonderful, though she doubted it would fix anything—when she woke up again, she’d still have killed a man. Nothing could erase that. 

Ginny returned with the potions and Madame Pomfrey quickly and effectively booted the others out of the room and started work applying the salves, talking to her all the while about that she was doing.

“Burn Salve repairs damaged skin tissue, which is why it will help sooth all this raw skin,” she explained as she smeared the greasy concoction across her tender skin, “You’ll be right as rain come morning. Things seem horrible and overwhelming now, but I promise you, Rose, once the shock wears off and you’ve had a goodnight sleep it will all be easier to deal with.”

She doubted it, but the mediwitch got points for trying at least. 

Rosalie swallowed the Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep as they were handed to her and was asleep before she remembered Madame Pomfrey leaving the room. 

It was another eighteen hours before she awoke.

*

She was sitting on an old moth-eaten chair that was tucked away in the back corner of the Black Family Library when Severus finally tracked her down. The library—of course—was the last place he’d expected to find her given what he knew of her studying habits and therefore the last place he’d thought to look. Yet there she was, apparently soaking up the atmosphere and Severus felt his expression settle into a familiar glare of annoyance as he stared at her. So typical of Potter to make him search for her, rather than simply being where she ought to be.

She sat half turned away from him, so that he was looking at her profile. Her knees were drawn up to her chest defensively, her oversized jumper practically swallowing her slight frame whole and her bare feet sticking out from underneath too-long muggle jeans. Her long, dark hair was hanging in messy tangles halfway down her back as though she hadn’t brushed it since rolling out of bed that morning and her gaze was glazed and distant as she stared out the window at the decrepit little backyard, her eyes, it would seem, taking in little of the rotting flowerbeds and dying bushes that stood there.

Severus frowned. 

He wondered how many people could actually say they _knew_ Rosalie Potter. She was such a study of contradictions, of strength and fragility. She was stubborn, argumentative and outspoken, and yet to anyone who cared to look, she was still so insecure in herself and her own self worth. He doubted many saw past the carefree persona she’d purposefully cultivated, most probably wouldn’t think to look. 

In that moment, however, Severus understood her perfectly. He knew exactly how she felt. He was all too familiar with the crushing feeling of guilt one experienced after killing another human being—especially that first time. It was a feeling he didn’t let himself reminisce over when he could at all help it. Yet, after witnessing the scene he’d walked in on when he’d found her just the previous night—blood all over her bed sheets, all over _her_ , the ring of bruises around her neck, the tortured look in her eyes and that bastard lying on the floor with his pants open, her undergarments still clutched in his hands—it was obvious what had happened, or what had at least _almost_ happened, and Severus knew he would have gladly done more than shove a knife in the bastard’s neck if he’d walked in a moment or two earlier.

“Miss Potter,” He called evenly, his tone neutral, giving nothing of his inner musings away.

She flinched in her chair and turned to face him, a startled look on her face, “I didn’t hear you come in, Sir.”

Severus took a couple of steps forward, detaching himself from the shadows of the room as he moved to stand at her side. He could see the sun setting through the window before them, sending out bursts of rich colour across the sky and lighting up the dreary library with a bright orange glow that made the room look like it was somehow on fire.

“You’ve spoken with the Headmaster?” He asked, his tone making the question sound more like a statement then in really was. 

“I have. He told me my Aunt and Uncle are both dead, and that Dudley’s somehow survived and is with Madame Pomfrey. He said you were able send word to the Order last night warning them of the attacks before they occurred. I think... I might not have been so lucky if you hadn’t done that, sir; or that the Weasley’s might not have been able to save their home.”

Severus gave no indication that he was pleased by her acknowledgement, “Yes, that is the purpose of having a spy in the enemy’s camp, is it not? What I mean to talk to you about, however, is the Headmaster’s wish that I recommence training you.”

“Sir?” She asked in confusion, “I’ve been able to successfully shield my mind from Voldemort for months…”

“It is not Occlumency that the Headmaster wishes you to learn,” Severus replied, “We are satisfied with your progress in that arena. However, the Headmaster believes that learning Legilimency might prove beneficial to you in the near future. It is an invaluable skill to be able to claim and is necessary if one wishes to become a superior duellist.”

Rosalie swallowed uncomfortably, “You’re going to teach me Legilimency?”

Immediately her mind was awash with images of the events of her fifth year and her gross invasion of his privacy. They’d come to something of truce over the incident since then, which simply meant they didn’t speak of it to one another or in anyway acknowledge that it ever happened. Regardless of that fact though, she’d not once let herself forget what had happened and had always been mindful to never _ever_ allow herself anywhere _near_ his thoughts or memories again since. The few times she’d accidentally followed the connection back into his mind during her Occulmency sessions she was always quickly shut out before she saw anything and only if she hadn’t already withdrawn her mind first. It was the only way they’d been able to move past things and build a tentative trust between them, a trust that had grown into a genuine link between them over the past year. She trusted Severus Snape with her life and thought he’d never admit it, the fact that he was even offering to teach her Legilimency told her he at least trusted her with his memories and thoughts, something she doubted many others could claim. 

Severus nodded, “Legilimency, as opposed to Occlumency, is in fact easier to learn. The difficulty does not lie so much in learning the skill, as in refining it. For Legilimency to be of any benefit to you, you will need to learn how to gain access to someone’s mind with a subtlety and delicacy that few have the patience to learn.”

Rosalie nodded, already dreading the lessons ahead. Subtlety and delicacy were neither of them traits she considered strong points in her personality and she had a feeling that things would progress slowly because of it.

“The Headmaster also mentioned his wish for you to commence training in advanced defensive and offensive magic which I believe Lupin, and no doubt one or two other members of the Order, will assist with instructing you in,” he continued, “I understand your birthday is rapidly approaching and the underage magic ban will soon be lifted. Until then, we are to use the sunroom at the rear of the house for our lessons. The Headmaster will ward the room to prevent the underage magic trace sensing your magic until that time.”

“Yes, sir. When do we start?”

“As soon as the training room can be arranged,” Severus told her.

Rosalie nodded, holding in her sigh until he’d turned and left the room. 

There was nothing Snape valued more than his privacy and embarking on lessons in Legilimency with him felt like they were playing with fire, Snape’s skills as an Occlumens aside. She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this tentative working relationship they seemed to have developed during her Occlumency lessons over the past year. Snape had only just started treating her like she was an individual with half a brain and this had the potential to ruin everything they’d built together. 

 

 

Almost as soon as Snape had left her side she was joined by Ron and Hermione. The bushy brunette looked strained and worried and wrapped her up in tight hug the moment she stood to greet them. Rosalie hugged her back just as fiercely for a moment before stepping back to offer them both a small smile.

“Hey,” she greeted softly.

“Hey yourself,” Ron returned, “You alright? I heard you were really shaken up about things last night.”

Rosalie nodded, “I’m fine. How are you? I heard Death Eater’s attacked your house.”

“They tried,” Ron agreed, “Luckily most of the Order showed up before they were able to do much damage. Dumbledore helped Mum and Dad strengthen the wards surrounding the property so the house is still pretty much intact, the backroom just got a new doorway blasted into it.”

Hermione nodded her agreement, “The Order sent someone out to our house too, just in case. I’m going to be staying at the Burrow for the summer since Mum and Dad decided to get out of the country for a while.”

“It’s all happening, isn’t it?” Ron said quietly after a moment, his voice sounding a bit overwhelmed by everything.

Rosalie nodded, “Seems like it.”

Malfoy letting Death Eaters into the school at the end of the previous year seemed like the catalyst to all out war. Since then there had been a number of attacks. Voldemort wasn’t hiding his tracks anymore and the Wizarding world was in an uproar over his return. People were scared and they were angry and they were doing stupid things in desperation.

“I’m sorry about your home, Ron,” Rosalie offered after a moment, “and that you can’t spend the summer with your family, Hermione.” 

Ron frowned, “It’s not _your_ fault, Rose!”

Rosalie shook her head, “I was the focus of the attacks though. They were looking for me. Dumbledore thinks that now Voldemort is out in the open he’s eager to get me out of the way so he can concentrate on his ‘real’ plans.”

Ron scoffed, “Just shows he’s a raging lunatic, if you ask me. At least you’ll be safe at the Burrow. The wards Dumbledore helped Mum and Dad put up are super strong. The house is unplottable.” 

Hermione shook her head, “Only for those who don’t already know where it is.”

“Meaning?” Ron prompted, looking at Hermione for an explanation.

“That the Death Eater’s who attacked you house could come back if they wanted to,” Hermione informed him.

“Yeah, but even if they did, they can’t get in,” Ron assured her.

“Maybe...I’m still not allowed to come, though,” Rosalie offered, derailing the brewing argument between her two best friends.

Ron’s head snapped around to stare at her, “What!?” 

“I didn’t think you would be,” Hermione agreed. 

“Why not?” Ron demanded, his cheeks turning red with anger, “You’ve always been safe at the Burrow!”

Rosalie shrugged uncomfortably, “Grimmauld Place is the safest place for me, since it’s under fidelius and Dumbledore’s secret keeper. No one can attack a place they can’t see. Not to mention no one even knows where it is to begin with.”

“So?”

“I’ve already been the cause of one attack on your home, Ron,” Rosalie told him plainly, “I don’t want to be the cause of another. I trust Dumbledore when he tells me this is the safest place he knows for me. Plus he wants me to start taking lessons in offensive and defensive magic.”

At that Ron deflated somewhat, although he still looked pissed that Rosalie would have to stay at Grimmauld Place by herself, “I heard dad say you’re starting training with Snape.”

Rosalie fought the urge to sigh at the venom that laced her best friend’s voice when he said Snape’s name.

“And Remus,” Rosalie agreed with a nod, “I don’t know who else yet.”

“I can’t believe Dumbledore is making _Snape_ teach you. You can bet he’ll use it as an excuse to flay you alive,” Ron groused.

Rosalie shrugged, “I don’t mind. Really. For the most part, Snape and I get along nowadays.”

“Really, Ron, Professor Snape has worked with Rose practically all year!” Hermione chided, “You’d think you’d be used to the idea by now.”

“But he _hates_ , Rose,” Ron pushed.

“He does not,” Hermione argued.

Rosalie sighed, “It doesn’t matter what he feels. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“But Snape?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“I’d imagine he’d be the best man for the job, actually,” Hermione told him matter-of-factly, “Who better to teach Rose exactly what to expect from Death Eaters or You-Know-Who?”

“Yeah, great idea! Who better to teach you about Death Eaters than a _Death Eater_?” Ron grumbled sarcastically, “maybe we should ask to take lessons too?” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Rosalie agreed, “I’m sure Remus would be more than happy to teach you too.”

Ron frowned at her, “It’s not Remus I want to keep an eye on.”

Rosalie frowned, “Well, I’m not sure Snape would let you join his lessons. Dumbledore wants him to teach me Legilimency. It’s supposed to improve your skill as a duellist, or something.”

Hermione nodded, “I can see that. Being able to read your opponents mind would help you anticipate their moves.”

Rosalie nodded.

“So? He can’t teach us too?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head, “You can’t learn Legilimency without first learning the art of Occlumency. It’s all quiet complicated really, but in order to be able to penetrate someone’s mind, you have to be able to maintain a tight control on your own first so that you do not end up projecting your own thoughts, or so I understand from one of the books I found in the library.”

“At school?” Rosalie asked curiously.

“No actually, here,” Hermione smiled indicating to the library of books behind her, “I went looking for information in the summer after our fifth year. Most of the books here are about Dark magic and rituals, but there is one or two that are actually quite informative.”

“Can you show me?” Rosalie asked, “I wouldn’t mind walking into this a little more prepared that I was last time around.”

Hermione grinned at her, “Of course.”

Ron sighed, “I just don’t like the idea of you having to spend all that time alone with Snape of all people. He’s a right bastard to you most of the time.”

Rosalie smiled and gave her friend a quick hug. His arms wrapped around her easily and he squeezed her back. It was true, Snape _had_ been a bastard to her the majority of the time they had worked together, but things had improved over the last couple of months and spending time with him now wasn’t nearly as painful as it had once been. In fact at times she’d even come to appreciate his humour, subtle though it was, though she’d never admit it to Ron while she valued her hearing.

“It’s not like where not going to be visiting every single day,” Hermione told their friend, “You’ll be able to keep an eye on Professor Snape if you’re really that worried, Ron. Perhaps I can even research that spell to link two mirrors so we can communicate with one another without sending owls?”

Rosalie smiled encouragingly, though her heart ached at the reminder of Sirius.

Ron visibly brightened at the prospect, “It’ll just suck not having you around all summer.”

Rosalie sighed, “I know.”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok, so here is the second chapter! Thanks to everyone who’s been reading and those of you left kudos. As I mentioned in my first posting this us un-beta’d so I apologise for any mistakes I may have over looked. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story as it progresses, let me know what you think. 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Two 

Rosalie looked around the room that someone had thoughtfully set up for her at some point throughout the day. It was still mostly empty despite the fact that her things had been retrieved from the Privet Drive at some point and kindly put away. In fact, there was little to show that the room belonged to anyone, save her firebolt leaning up against the wall in one corner and Hedwig’s cage resting on the desk. It was impersonal and lifeless; a perfect mirror of her own disjointed emotions. There, but hollow. A shell.

Rosalie sighed and sunk down onto the edge of her bed. It was well past dark out and the house was filled with long shadows and a silence that rang in her ears. She couldn’t believe a whole day had passed already. It had seemed to both crawl by and fly far too quickly. An odd mixture of long periods of idleness broken up by quick burst of activity and a constant stream of people in an out of her peripheries: Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Snape, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs Weasley. Her two best friends seemed to be at odds with her apathy and she wondered why no one had told them what she’d done.

Standing up abruptly, she interrupted her own stream of thought by moving across the room to Hedwig’s cage, pulling out some owl treats in an effort to distract herself. She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to remember or feel, but even the silence seemed accusatory.

When it wasn’t bustling with Order members coming and going as they pleased, Grimmauld Place was almost unnaturally quiet. Of course, she suspected the only reason that wasn’t the case was because Dumbledore wasn’t currently in residence, but it felt like she was the only one around with Ron, Hermione and the Weasley’s having left for the day. She wasn’t though. She knew for a fact that Madame Pomfrey was still working down in her makeshift infirmary; Dudley Dursley still reluctantly stuck under her dutiful care, no doubt. 

The thought made her shudder. 

The idea of a Dursley—any Dursley—in her world felt wrong and vaguely threatening and she felt the urge to ejected him from it with all haste.

‘You’re the reason he’s here in the first place, though, aren’t you,’ a nasty voice whispered in her mind, ‘you’re the reason his parent’s are dead. You might as well let yourself choke on that too while you’re drowning yourself in guilt over the other man you killed.’

Rosalie swallowed heavily and looked down at her hands. She could still feel the heat of the man’s blood as it slid over her skin and half expected to see it there still, staining her hands red as though it had seeped in through her pores to settle itself just beneath the surface. They were clean and dry, however, their colour a natural looking pink. 

She balled up her hands into fists and shoved them behind her back. She should go check on Dudley, she thought. Make sure that he’s okay, that’s he’s not too badly injured and that he was coping. It was the least she could do. He was family after all, and now neither of them had all that much in the way of family left, even if they did hate one another.

Rosalie looked up in surprise as she realized suddenly that she was standing in front of Madame Pomfrey’s door, that her feet had carried her there subconsciously while she’d been lost in thought.

Rosalie swallowed heavily and for a moment she could do no more than stare at it uncertainly, unsure suddenly if she truly wanted to go through with it. She was probably the last person Dudley wanted to see, despite the fact she was his cousin and the only familiar face to him here at Grimmauld Place. She was the reason his parents were dead, after all. He was probably scared out of his mind, though he’d never admit it, and she felt she owed him at least enough to check on him. She knew most of Dudley’s hatred of the wizarding world was due to the fear of it his parents had instilled in him since birth and being in an unfamiliar—and decidedly creepy—magical environment was probably more than he could take right at that moment. 

Taking a deep breath, she reached haltingly for the handle and slipped inside. 

Where there had once been a reasonably sized sitting room, there was now a room set up to act as a makeshift hospital wing in a pinch. There were a couple of beds spaced evenly along the walls and a desk in one corner where Madame Pomfrey could work and keep an eye on her patients at the same time. There was a bookshelf set up against one wall stacked full of potions, creams and remedies, and a large fireplace against the other wall big enough to keep the whole room warm at night. It was nothing like the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, but it was functional and stocked well enough for Madame Pomfrey to make do in emergencies; at least until something more permanent could be arranged. 

The mediwitch was nowhere in sight though, as Rosalie slipped into the room. The curtains were drawn tightly across the windows, the only light in the room coming from a softly burning oil lantern on the mediwitch’s desk due to the fact that it was summer and warm enough out not to warrant having the fire burning overnight. Yet even in the dim lighting the boy lying in the bed in the far corner of the room was hard to miss. His rotund shape bludged up out of the bedding like a strange looking growth in the shadows of the night, his snores ripping through the peaceful silence of the room like Uncle Vernon’s old chainsaw.

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder if his sleep was natural or potion-induced. How had he reacted when he’d learnt of his parents’ deaths? It was hard to think of Dudley as anything other than the self-absorbed, misbehaved brat his parents had raised him to be. Did he mourn their deaths as the tragedy they were? For the life which they’d been robbed of or for the impact it would have on _his_ life? Not yet eighteen, in the muggle world he was still a minor and legally he couldn’t take control of his family’s assets. Perhaps he’d have to go live with Aunt Marge, his only other living relative that Rosalie had ever seen or heard of.

Rosalie shuddered at the thought. 

As much as she’d always despised Dudley, she was sorry for what had happened, more so because it was irrefutably her fault that his parents were now dead. Death Eaters had been in their house in search of _her_ , her relatives had just been in the way, worth less to Voldemort’s minions than the dirt beneath their feet—muggles. Perhaps if they’d never known her, or if she’d never gone to live with them, they might still be alive? Perhaps they would have ended up dying anyway?

She could picture what might have happened when Dudley had been told his parents had been killed. His face always turned red and blotchy like Uncle Vernon’s when he was angry and he’d learnt to imitate many of the man’s characteristics and gestures at a young age. She could picture his fear of the wizards surrounding him bleeding away as anger gripped him. She could imagine the furious diatribe falling from his lips in a steady stream of inelegant speech as he tried to force them to take back their words—as he attempted to bend the world to his whims until everything was right once more. 

“Rosalie?”

Madame Pomfrey’s voice startled her out of her thoughts, and it was only then that she realised Dudley was no longer asleep. His beady blue eyes were staring up at her silently, cold fury blazing through their depths from where he lay. 

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, barely loud enough for the apology to reach the boy’s ears.

His eyes darkened and a snarl tore across his face twisting the baby-faced features into an ugly visage of rage. He moved quicker than she could have anticipated, leaping from the bed with unexpected agility to swing his fist at her face. 

His knuckles made contact with her cheekbone solidly. The blow knocking her nearly senseless as pain exploded up through one side of her face. She felt herself topple to the floor and landed on her hands and knees, facing away from him.

“Y-you murdering bitch! You FREAK!” He snarled furiously, spittle flying as he forced the words out through clenched teeth, “This is _all your fault_!”

“Mr. Dursley!” Madame Pomfrey snapped in horror, shock colouring her tone and her features.

Rosalie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her gaze and gingerly touched a hand to her face. Her cheek throbbed angrily under her fingers, but she couldn’t blame anyone but herself for the injury. In a way she welcomed it, as punishment for her guilt. She deserved this. Didn’t she?

“The world would be a better place if you had never been born! I hate you! I’ve always hated you, and so did my parents! I wish they’d just killed you and been done with it—”

“ _Immobulus!_ ”

Rosalie didn’t move as Dudley suddenly froze, his foot bent back in mid swing with a kick that was no doubt aimed at her abdomen. She blinked up at Madame Pomfrey, however, as the mediwitch rushed over to her side quickly, turning her face this way and that with gentle hands she took in the bruise that was already forming on her face. Her cheek and jaw felt hot and puffy as it began to swell, and she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire face.

“He’s grieving,” the mediwitch explained as she examined her face, “People say and do horrible things when the heart has been hurt. Not that I’m making excuses for him, mind you, he should never have hit you; he’ll feel rotten for it in the morning, no doubt.”

Rosalie nodded her head in half-hearted agreement, not the mood to go into the particulars of her relationship with the Dursley’s. If anything, Dudley’s resolve to do her bodily harm would have only strengthened come morning; regret would have no part in it.

“With the rate you’re going through my bruise salve, Miss Potter, I’ll have to ask Professor Snape to brew up another batch before the week is out. Though, I don’t know why that should surprise me,” The mediwitch exclaimed as she reached into her robes and pulled out the small jar, smearing the thick salve across her cheek and jaw.

“You’ll still bruise a little, I imagine, but this will take the pain away and hasten the process,” She explained with a nod, “Now, I think you’d best make yourself scarce before I re-awaken Mr. Dursley.”

Rosalie nodded and climbed to her feet, moving quickly towards the door, not sure if she’d accomplished whatever it was that had motivated her to seek her cousin out the first place. Her guilt had not abated, nor did she feel any better at having given Dudley the opportunity to get some of his own back. What was a knock to the face when she’d basically murdered his parents? If nothing else, though, she knew now that Dudley was fine and she resolved not to go back to see him again. If he wanted to see her, he could come find her, her responsibility, as far as she was concerned, for _that_ Dursley had ended.

*

Severus hovered in the kitchen doorway with reluctant curiosity to watch the strange ritual that seemed to be taking place before him. Potter, bent over the kitchen bench scrubbing at the counter top furiously, a bucket of what he assumed was soapy water beside her on the bench, single-mindedly intent upon her task—muggle cleaning.

Frowning, Severus glanced at the muggle clock that had been installed on the wall—a recent addition to the Black Family home the original owners would have loathed, no doubt. It had gone midnight, and the rest of the house was still and silent. Indeed, Severus had thought himself to be the only one still awake. He slept infrequently, existing from day to day on little more than a few hours here and there. It was rare that he could relax enough to allow his body to descend into full sleep and rarely outside of his own heavily warded quarters at Hogwarts. 

He found himself curious, however, as to the purpose of this late night cleaning frenzy Potter seemed to be engaged in. It could, of course, simply be a punishment for some offence. He often used manual labour as a punishment in his detentions, thought it seemed an unlikely scenario in this setting.

“May I inquire as to what you are doing exactly?”

The girl spun around to face him; startled, it appeared, by his sudden presence. Her long dark hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, bits of hair escaping to frame her face haphazardly giving her a harried look. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek and she looked tired and strained, her wide green eyes dulled with fatigue.

“Professor, I didn’t hear you come in! I didn’t realise anyone else was in the house!” She admitted, her hand still clutching the scrubbing brush she’d been using, soap suds dripping from her hand onto the floor.

“You thought the Headmaster would leave you unattended?” Severus asked, his eyebrow cocked in mocking disdain, “Please, Potter. With your propensity for getting yourself into trouble you’re lucky you’re not walking around with an armed guard dogging your every step.”

Rosalie recognized his dry humour, but was in no mood to reciprocate or appreciate it and had to fight against the urge to glare back at him, “I only meant that I thought it was only myself and Madame Pomfrey left in the house... and my cousin, I guess.”

Severus’ frown deepened as he took note of the swelling to the left side of her face and the bruising which now marred her cheek and soft underside of her eye. It was fading purple colour which told him she’d already been to see Madame Pomfrey, but the swelling would still take a few hours to recede.

“Who hit you?”

Rosalie glanced away, before turning her back on him completely to return to her scrubbing. 

“It’s nothing.”

“I didn’t ask whether or not it was ‘nothing’, I asked you who hit you. You have a black eye, Miss Potter, are you going to tell me you walked into a door? Or perhaps you ‘fell’? Those stairs do look quite treacherous,” Severus asked mockingly. 

Rosalie shook her head, “Really Professor—”

“I want to know who hit you, Potter?” The Potions Master pushed, “Was it Weasley?”

Rosalie spun around again, “What?! You think _Ron_ hit me?”

“Did he?” Severus asked flatly, his eyes brooking no room for argument or evasion. 

“No! Of course not! Ron would _never_! It was my cousin, okay?” She replied with forced nonchalance, “I went to see him in Madame Pomfrey’s infirmary. He is upset—grieving—over my Aunt and Uncle.”

Severus arched an eyebrow, “And because of this, he hit you.”

Rosalie shrugged, “He blames me for their deaths and he’s right to; it was my fault Death Eaters were there in the first place after all.”

“That is ridiculous,” Severus replied in his ‘are you really as stupid as you look’ tone, “You did not wield the wand that ended their lives, nor did the curse fall from your lips. Their blood is not on your hands. This war will tear plenty of people’s lives apart, Potter, some hitting closer to home than others. If you continue to persist in feeling guilty for things you have had no part in, you will drive yourself insane and be of little use to the people that still need you.”

Rosalie huffed in disagreement, “They would have never been targets if I hadn’t been sent to live with them! They weren’t given a choice in the matter and from day one they made it clear that they never wanted me because they were afraid of something like this happening. I am the reason they are dead!”

“That does not make you guilty of their murder,” Severus counted, “We are at war, Potter, and people die. Many will even die for you, no doubt. Yes, the Death Eater’s came for you and had you known and done nothing, then maybe you could consider yourself complicit in their actions. As it stands, you are not. You’re merely putting yourself through pain you need not endure.”

Rosalie shook her head, “And what of the other man, the Death Eater I did kill? Surely you don’t think I’m blameless there.”

“It is not an issue of blame. As far as I’m concerned you put down an animal, not a man,” Severus snarled.

Rosalie didn’t respond.

Severus sighed and allowed himself to continue in a calmer tone, “It is true that every life you take weighs on you and you will need to find your own way to work through the emotions that are no doubt battering at you relentlessly. Yet, you did not kill an innocent man, Potter, and you did not kill him in cold blood. You killed him in self defence and I can promise you, had you not, he would have done you _far worse_.” 

Rosalie shivered. 

“It’s late,” He continued sternly after a moment, “You should be in bed. You’re training, with any luck, will begin tomorrow and it is imperative you are well rested.”

“I can’t,” She told him plainly, turning back her task, “I don’t sleep all that well.”

“Presently, you’re not even trying. If you require a sleeping draught, Madame Pomfrey would be more than happy to supply you with some, I’m sure,” He replied.

She shook her head emphatically, “They don’t work. They only make it worse. If I sleep, I’ll dream and I don’t want to dream.”

Severus eyed her appraisingly. Nightmares. It wasn’t surprising given everything the girl had seen. He suffered them too. Even so, he tested her Occlumency shield surreptitiously and nodded in satisfaction when he found them intact.

“There is always Dreamless Sleep,” he told her.

“Dreamless Sleep is addictive,” she argued, “and I would need to be taking it all the time for it to be any use. Anyway, I had some last night to help me sleep. I feel fine.”

Severus watched a shudder pass over her and he thought, perhaps, that that was the real problem. People coming down off Dreamless Sleep often found themselves wired and jumpy the next evening, added to the fact that she was more than likely afraid to go to sleep after what had happened the previous night and you were left with a slightly manic, overly strained Potter. How did he always seem to find himself in these situations? More than once over the last year he’d found himself in the role of counsellor to the girl, though certainly not by choice—hers or his—and every time he’d been given no warning. He cursed Dumbledore silently for perhaps the millionth time. If he hadn’t insisted Severus be the one to teach her Occlumency then they would have never been forced to learn to trust one another with their secrets as they had.

Severus fought the urge to sigh and surprised even himself by walking further into the room and settling himself into a chair at the kitchen table. He watched her for a moment wondering what was going through her mind and wondering what was going through _his_ that he hadn’t left her there to go to bed himself. 

“Can you listen and work, Potter?”

Rosalie turned to look across at him nodding in confusion. 

“Then pay attention,” He told her, “It should come as no surprise that you have in fact already performed Legilimency on a number of occasions. They were crude and undeveloped attempts at best, however, knowing this may help you in the days to come.”

Rosalie frowned at him as he settled into lecture mode, “You’re teaching me Legilimency _now_?”

Severus arched and eyebrow at her, “Is that a problem?”

Rosalie stared at him for a beat, wondering what his game was. Finally she shook her head, “No.”

Severus stared at her a moment before nodding.

“The difference is those few short times you were able to gain access to my mind, a link had already been created between us; you simply followed it back into my mind. As rudimentary as that was, it is, however, essentially what I will be teaching you to do over the next several weeks,” Severus explained succinctly.

Slowly Rosalie returned to her cleaning, allowing herself to relax into the repetitive motion as Snape continued to talk. She was somewhat surprised to find herself falling into a rhythm with him as she worked; her guilt and anxiety falling into the background as she focused on the task before her and the smooth, rich cadence of Snape’s voice as he took to explaining the basics of Legilimency to her. It wasn’t long before she felt like she’d blinked and suddenly the kitchen was spotless and she was sitting across from Snape, a pot of tea between them as he talked. 

She listened intently as he described the process, the need for tight personal control and the importance of direction. She needed to have focus before entering someone else’s mind, to have a goal, or else she’d find herself in a drift of memories and thoughts. She needed to know what it is she sought from them, at least until she could better understand the way the human mind worked. He explained that everyone, even Voldemort needed to have a point of focus before invoking the incantation or else the spell would be ineffectual, even if that focus was something as vague as the search for treachery in any of its many forms.

‘I’m going to suck worse at this than I did Occlumency,’ Rosalie thought absently as he described the intricacies of gaining access to someone’s mind. 

“Legilimency requires far more subtlety than that of Occlumency. Any bumbling fool with an ounce of knowledge in the skill can blast their way into someone’s mind if they have the desire and knowledge to do so, you must learn to gain entry without making your presence known. A skilled Legilimens can enter your mind with nothing more than a glance.”

Rosalie shivered at the thought of all the times she’d been almost certain in class that Snape was reading her mind. He probably had been.

“Are you even listening, Potter?” He asked suddenly, his voice resigned, aware that she seemed to have drifted off into her own thoughts.

Rosalie nodded, “You were talking about finding the dormant aspect of the person’s consciousness, rather than the pool of ‘active thought’. Like entering a house through the back door while the owner was busy greeting someone out front, right?”

Snape sighed, “Essentially, yes, although I wouldn’t have put it in such terms.”

“It’s like what you taught me with Occlumency, the need for diversion? Only this time instead of creating the diversion, I’m making use of what is already naturally occurring.”

Snape nodded, and she knew from his lack of comment that he was pleased with her understanding thus far.

“Will you show me?”

Her Occlumency shields were already in place as she felt the gentle and familiar brush of Snape’s mind against her own. It was barely discernible, a whispered caress against the barrier of her mind as he entered and she doubted she would have felt it had his presence within her not been so wholly familiar after a more than a year of having him inside her head. It was second nature now for her to close her mind to him and she did so without thought.

“Do you feel me?” He asked.

Rosalie nodded, aware suddenly that he had meant for her to feel his entrance. 

“Good, now follow the brush of my mind back, much like you have done by accident in the past only with less...force,” He coached.

Frowning Rosalie reached out with her mind and managing to embraced Snape’s presence with her own, coiling her consciousness around his to follow the presence back as it withdrew from her mind until she found herself engulfed in its essence. 

Snape’s essence.

Being in Snape’s mind was nothing like what she’d experienced with him in the past. This time she wasn’t accidentally blasting her way into his private thoughts and memories only to be painfully and forcefully ejected again. Instead, he’d invited her in and although his mind was closed to her, she was surrounded by everything that was Snape and it was warm and inviting and _personal_. 

It was overwhelming and for a moment she almost seemed to live and breathe everything that made the man who and what he was—they were connected in a basic and fundamental sense. She could feel the awareness of his body in the space around them as if it were her own. Each breath he took was one _she_ took, as if they were one being. She could practically feel the rasp of material from his robes against his skin. She’d never felt so close to anyone in all her life and she doubted she ever would again without recreating the experience.

His dark eyes swum in her vision and with a jolt she remembered suddenly just whose mind and body she was sharing. She was wrapped up in everything that he was and with a startled gasp she broke the connection as her concentration shattered.

Snape was surveying her through inscrutable eyes, “Better than I had anticipated. It was an undisciplined attempt, but not without hope.”

Rosalie shook herself and nodded. She felt odd and shaky. That whole experience had been strangely and uncomfortably intimate. His consciousness had been familiar and easy in her own mind, but she’d been unprepared for the way it had wrapped around her, and accepted her back into its natural state. Would it be like that with everyone? Every time she entered someone’s mind? For those few moments she’d been surrounded by his presence, she’d felt like she’d truly known him—was a part of him—in a way she doubted anyone could truly fathom without having experienced it for themselves. 

“Is it always so, um...overwhelming?” She asked uncomfortably, going with the least embarrassing word she could think of to describe what she had felt. Merlin, if Snape had experienced the same every time he’d been in _her_ mind...he probably knew her inside out. 

She fought the urge to blush at how intimately he likely knew her and how she thought. He’d stood witness to some of her most personal thoughts and memories over the last year—he no doubt knew more about what made her who she was then even her best friends. Yet it was because of this, at least in part, that she believed they’d finally come to respect one another—at least in her opinion.

“It can be. However, for the purpose of teaching you the art I accepted you into my mind and drew your presence in and you allowed your consciousness to submerge into mine,” He explained, “When you enter the mind of someone who is unaware, it is far less...malleable and you will be entering with a clear purpose in mind.” 

Rosalie nodded, somewhat relieved as she glanced down at her tea. It had gone cold as some point during their lesson. Pushing herself up from the table she took the cup to the sink to rinse it out. 

“It is late,” Snape abruptly, cutting their lesson short, “Go to bed. I will count myself lucky if you remember even half of what I have taught you tonight.”

Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to bristle at the blatant order. She was tired, and surprisingly, she felt like she might be able to sleep. Snape was gone from the table when she turned back to thank him and she took a moment to admire how silently he could move, before quickly restoring the kitchen to rights and taking herself off to bed.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I can't get the formatting quite right on this site. Anyway, hope you're all still with me :)
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

Chapter Three

Snape was gone by the time she’d awoken the next morning and in his place Remus had arrived to act as her body guard. Rosalie stopped short in the kitchen doorway at the sight of the wolf, her heart suddenly aching fiercely as her eyes began prickle and burn with tears. Rosalie sniffed ineffectually as he smiled sadly at her and immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips falling to press a firm kiss to the crown of her head. Rosalie threw her arms around him in return, her hands fisting tightly in the back of his robes.

“Are you alright?” he asked roughly, his cheek resting atop of her head. 

Rosalie nodded brokenly, unable to form the words. 

She was surprised by the strength of her reaction, at how little it had taken for her to break down before him as she had. They’d seen very little of each other over the past year and things had been awkward between them after Sirius’ death, yet she hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted him the past couple of days until he’d been there. The tears she’d kept at bay began to roll down her face silently and she clutched him tighter.

“It’s alright,” he soothed her softly, his hands smoothing down the length of her hair.

Rosalie shook her head. It wasn’t alright. She’d killed a man and everyone around her kept dying and she just wanted things to stop. She _needed_ things to stop so she could breathe again. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating in blood and death and just once she wanted to feel like death and destruction didn’t follow her wherever she went. Everyone thought she was some kind of hero because she kept defeating Voldemort, or because she’d faced him a handful of times and walked away with life, but what they didn’t realise was that it felt like he took a little piece of her away with him each and every time. Her parents, Cedric, Sirius, her aunt and uncle... She felt like she was poisonous to the people around her, and now Voldemort had made her a killer like he was. 

She didn’t know why the Death Eater’s death should affect her as much as it did, she’d killed him in self defence and what he’d been about to do to her told her all she needed to know about the type of person he must have been... perhaps it was just the ‘what ifs’? What if he’d been forced into his service as a Death Eater? What if he had a wife somewhere who was now grieving for him? Or children? What if he’d been under the Imperius Curse?

“I killed someone,” she whispered through her ragged hiccups and sobs.

Remus hugged her tighter, “I know.”

She was thankful for Remus’ quiet support and silent strength. What was there to say after all? Words were of little comfort and nothing anyone did would bring him back; that she didn’t _want_ to undo what she’d done felt like another black mark on her conscience. She felt like she was at war with herself and the only thing she knew for sure was that if put in the same situation again she’d likely make the same decision. She didn’t regret defending herself. She’d been afraid—very, very afraid—of what he’d do to her that night. 

“No one blames you, Rose. No one is ashamed of what you did,” Remus told her quietly as they finally drew back from one another, “It is always difficult to accept that you have taken another person’s life. It isn’t easy and I hope for your sake it never becomes easy. Your mind plays havoc with your emotions and you begin to doubt yourself and your judgement...”

Rosalie nodded, her eyes downcast as she swiped at the tears on her face absently.

“You made the right call,” Remus told her firmly, grasping her shoulders in a steadying grip as he ducked his head down to meet her gaze head on.

Rosalie looked into his amber eyes searchingly. They were warm and sincere, open and frank and she could see his belief in his words reflecting back at her. He truly believed she’d made the right call. That helped, if only a little.

“You can’t look at the situation in pieces,” Remus continued with the same quiet intensity, “You can’t allow yourself to stagnate on the thought that you have killed someone. Yes, you did kill someone, but you killed them because they were trying to hurt you. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? Don’t think ‘I killed someone’, force yourself to think ‘I killed someone defending myself’ or even just ‘I defended myself’. It is instinct, Rose. Human’s are built with a strong survival instinct; otherwise we would not have survived for as long as we have.”

Rosalie shook her head, “But Remus...”

“If it had been Hermione in that situation, if it had been Hermione who was being attacked and who killed that Death Eater, would you condemn her for having done so?” Remus pushed.

“No, of course not,” Rosalie protested.

“Because you are looking at the situation in context,” Remus agreed, “I am not trying to belittle what you feel, Rose. Simply show you that you are in a way condemning yourself for an act, that when put in context as it should be, no one would judge you for. Just try and remember that before you drown yourself in guilt.”

Rosalie blinked and moved to take a seat at the table. Her heart was pounding like she’d run a marathon and her cheeks were still wet with tears, but she felt like she might just be beginning to understand what Remus was going on about. It didn’t make it hurt any less, at least not yet, but the crush of guilt on her chest seemed to have eased the tiniest bit.

She offered the wolf a wobbly smile as he moved to take the seat across from her. 

“You blame yourself for too much, Rose,” Remus told her sadly.

Rosalie glanced away, not sure she was ready for the minefield of emotional turmoil that comment could lead them to. How much could one person take, she wondered, before they simply burst from all the pain and heartache life put them through? Her world was edged in darkness and at times it threatened to swallow her whole to the point where it felt like she couldn’t breathe some days. Was that normal? Was it normal for her to go through life trying to simply ignore what she couldn’t cope with?

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe,” She was the only answer she gave him on the subject, “Are you staying long? Or is this just an overnight visit?”

Remus gave her a look that said he knew she was trying to change the topic, but would allow the subject to be dropped. Instead he conjured up some tea cups and levitated the kettle over from the stove where it had been boiling before she’d come in. 

“I leave again tomorrow,” Remus told her, “I’ll be in an out a lot while you’re staying here, though, so not to worry. The Headmaster asked a couple of us to act as your ‘guardians’ over the summer—mostly those of us without families or time consuming duties to fill out days. We’re to use a little of the time each visit to help teach you some advanced offensive and defensive magic.”

Rosalie nodded. Snape had basically told her as much the night before. 

“Who are my other guardians?” She asked.

“It will be Severus and I, for the most part. Tonks and a couple of the older Weasley brothers will be our backup if we’re unable to be here, but if no one else is available then someone from the Order will step in. You’ll always have someone in the house with you, Rose,” Remus reassured her.

“I’ll bet Snape loved being told he’d have to babysit me on a regular basis,” Rosalie muttered.

Remus chuckled, “No doubt.” 

Rosalie sighed. She hated being couped up. It reminded her of being back at Privet drive when her relatives would all but place her under house arrest, rendering her unable to leave the house for days on end, or worse, when they locked her in her room. She’d traded one cage for another. She knew it was for protection, for both her and other Order members, if Death Eater’s were going to continue trying to flush her out. They couldn’t protect her forever, though. Sooner or later she was going to have to take an active role in this war. She could feel it building, tension escalating around her. In the mean time all she could do was sit and wait. And learn. 

“I know I’m not allowed out to visit the Weasley’s, will I be able attend the wedding though?” Rosalie asked. 

Remus nodded, “Of course. Whoever is with you for the day will be able to escort you there and back again.”

Rosalie nodded, there was that at least, she supposed.

“I thought we might spend the day preparing the room the Headmaster put aside as your training room?” Remus offered suddenly, as though he too could sense the funk she was slipping into again. 

Rosalie forced a smile, “Has Professor Dumbledore already set up the wards?”

“Not yet,” Remus replied, “It shouldn’t take much to get it ready though. I know some good interior decorating charms that’ll help brighten things up.”

“You do?” Rosalie asked in bemusement, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they got up from the table together, Remus guiding her easily towards the door.

The werewolf chuckled, “You’re mother took the term ‘nesting’ to a whole new level, Rose. She had all three of us learn the charms while she was pregnant with you. Ordinarily she would have done it, but your dad wouldn’t let her lift a finger so we all got roped in. I don’t think the walls of the nursery stayed the same colour for longer than a day that first week. Sirius was about ready to throttle her by the end of it—it was his job to colour the walls! Blue, pink, yellow, green, baby blue, sky blue, ocean blue, powder blue, cornflower blue—you’d never have known there were that many different shades of blue! You should have seen Sirius’ face when she settled on seafoam green! You’re dad hated it, but Sirius threatened to hex him seafoam green if he even hinted to Lily that he didn’t like it.”

Rosalie smiled, “what does seafoam green even look like?”

“To me? Just a pale green colour,” Remus grinned as they made their way down the hall to her training room, “If you’d have asked Sirius though he would have taken great pleasure in going into minute detail of the exact shade and depth of green your walls were painted.”

Rosalie laughed. 

Her training room—like the rest of the house—had carpeted floor that was thin and moth-eaten with age and walls that were painted in the same dreary colours that the majority of the house seemed decorated in. A large set of bay windows at the far end of the room lit the room with sunlight, though and absent its gothic furnishings she imagined the room would look almost cheerful at the right time of day. Rosalie was surprised to find that she actually liked the room and felt her spirits lift as she gazed at the warm summer sun filtering in through the dirty window.

“What do you think?” Remus prompted.

Rosalie grinned at him, “I think I’d like the walls painted seafoam green.”

*

A genuine smile lit Rosalie’s face as the floo flared just as she and Remus were sitting down to lunch and a familiar bushy head of hair announced itself cheerfully.

“Hermione!” Rosalie greeted happily.

The other witch smiled back, “Hi! Mind if I come through for a visit?”

Rosalie glanced at Remus fleetingly for permission before replying, “Of course not, come through.”

Remus smiled at his goddaughter indulgently as she waved her friend through happily.

“I have a few owls to send,” he told her mildly as he pushed back from his place at the table, “I might take my lunch in the library and leave you two to talk.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay. Thanks!”

Hermione was brushing the soot from her robes as Rosalie glanced back at her, “Ron couldn’t make it. Mrs. Weasley managed to catch him while he wasn’t doing anything and now he’s stuck helping out with the wedding preparations for the rest of the day.”

Rosalie smirked in amusement, “Come on. Let’s go up to my room.”

“You look tired, Rose,” Hermione said as they entered the small bedroom and she pulled her friend down onto the bed beside her, “You’re not sleeping again, are you?”

Rosalie shrugged, “I got a couple of hours. I got to bed about two or three, I think.”

She was almost certain it was closer to three am, but then she’d managed a solid five hours which was rare. She’d still had the nightmares, of course, but the sun had at least been up by the time they disturbed her rest and nightmares were easier to deal with when she knew that they actually were nightmares and not visions like they’d once been.

Hermione winced, “Snape will kill you if he finds out. You know he doesn’t accept anything less than one hundred percent. If he finds out...”

“He already knows,” Rosalie replied picking at an invisible thread on her bedspread, “It was really strange, ‘Mione.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Rosalie worried her lower lip hesitantly, “I was up cleaning the kitchen, trying to burn off some energy so I could sleep…”

Hermione nodded in encouragement, used to her friend’s odd habits and methods of trying to sleep.

“And instead Snape comes in and somehow I ended up having a spur of the moment Legilimency lesson. He sat up with me for hours teaching me the basics, ‘Mione, but it’s just strange, you know...being inside a teachers mind like that. Nothing like what I expected,” Rosalie explained.

“Bad strange?” Hermione asked, “I kind of imagine Professor Snape’s thoughts being all dark and angry. I mean, I don’t imagine how they couldn’t be with some of the things he must have seen and done in his time as a Death Eater.”

“That’s exactly what I expected too, I think! But they’re not,” Rosalie exclaimed in quiet disbelief, “It was strangely... _intimate_. It was like being engulfed in warmth, or lying in the sun. It was comforting and welcoming, and for a second it almost felt like I _was_ him, or at least part of him. It was intense.”

Hermione blushed.

“I know,” Rosalie agreed, knowing exactly what her friend was thinking and this time, she couldn’t keep the pinkness from her own cheeks.

Hermione giggled nervously, “Do you think it’s always like that? I mean, imagine if you had to use Legilimency on You-Know-Who for some reason, can you imagine anything worse?”

Rosalie grimaced, “I hardly think Voldemort’s mind could _ever_ feel like that, even if he was really trying. Anyway, Snape said it was only all personal like that because he was allowing me entry, and accepting me in to teach me how to do it alone. When someone isn’t aware it’s less overwhelming.” 

“You asked him?” Hermione exclaimed in delighted horror.

“Not like that! I just asked if it was always so overwhelming, like you did.”

Hermione nodded, “Was it awkward? Afterwards, I mean.”

“Merlin, ‘Mione,” Rosalie blushed, “You make it sound like I was doing something inappropriate with him, or something.”

“Oh shush,” Hermione chided “I know you weren’t doing anything inappropriate, but like you said, it _was_ intimate. I would have been completely embarrassed to face him after something like that.”

“I was a little shaken, but I think I held it together ok,” Rosalie replied.

“Of course you did,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes and an amused smile, “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re always so cool under pressure, Rose. I wish I could have some of that strength and composure sometimes.”

“Strength and composure? ‘Mione, the last thing I am most of the time is strong or composed. I’m a mess most of the time, especially since the other night,” Rose countered with a shake of the head.

Hermione reached out to hug her tightly, “No one expects you to be composed after something like that, but what I meant was, you keep your head when things get bad, Rose. That’s a real gift. I know things feel all messed up now, and I know you’re probably tearing yourself to pieces feeling guilty over your Aunt and Uncle. But what happened the other night wasn’t your fault and let’s face it, your Aunt and Uncle where horrible and abusive. Out everyone who could have been hurt or killed that night, I’m glad it was them and not you.” 

Rosalie bit her lip as tears pooled in her eye, “But, Hermione, if I hadn’t been sent to live with them...”

“Then they could have still been targets. Your Aunt was always going to be ‘Lily Potter’s sister’, and that alone would have made them targets eventually. We could play ‘what if’ all day, Rose. If you hadn’t been sent to live with them, you wouldn’t have had your mother’s protection keeping you safe all these years, you might have been killed when you were only little by You-Know-Who or his followers, you could have been forced into this much earlier, or someone like the Weasley’s might have been the focus of that attack. It’s horrible that anyone had to die that night, but it wasn’t your fault. It’s You-Know-Who’s. None of this would even matter if he wasn’t a mad man.”

For the first time since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, Rose, felt the blanket of guilt that was suffocating her begin to lift a little as everything everyone had been telling her began to sink in. She still had blood on her hands, she’d killed a man, but for the first time since she’d heard the news, she didn’t feel guilty for the death of her relatives. Hermione was right, if it wasn’t for Voldemort, none of this would have ever happened. 

“You’re the strongest person I know, Rose.” Hermione said with a smile as she pulled back out of their embrace. 

Rose gave her a small smile in return, “and you’re the smartest.”

*

Rosalie had almost forgotten that Dudley was in the house at all, until she literally ran into him again almost a week after her arrival Grimmauld Place and immediately began to wonder how she could have forgotten such a glaring detail. You didn’t just forget a boy like Dudley. His size made him hard to miss, for one thing, but it was the grate of his personality that gave her the most issue. She pushed the thought side though as she practically peeled herself back out of his flab and looked up at him.

He’d managed to corner her alone outside Madame Pomfrey’s makeshift infirmary, a manoeuvre that seemed almost planned and Rosalie felt hair on her arms stand up at the thought that he might have been waiting for her. 

Dudley’s face was already red and blotchy, his eyes pinched in anger and instantly something familiar and fundamental inside her clicked on and she felt her whole body go on alert.

“Dudley,” she greeted as calmly as possible.

Dudley—despite his weight—had always been tall and even if he hadn’t weighed as much as a small whale he would have still been an intimidating figure when standing at his full height.  
Speed had been her only defence against him growing up due to her shorter more petite frame and only if she’d had time to make a run for it first. It made her uncomfortable that now he was purposefully trying to be intimidating as he crowded in against her person to glare nastily down at her from a height. 

“Potter, you’re going to—”

Rosalie looked up at him expectantly as he swallowed his words, cutting himself off mid sentence. His eyes flicked past her though, and suddenly she understood.

“Mr. Dursley. Miss Potter.”

Rosalie whipped her head around to stare at Snape and unbelievably felt her heart give a little nervous jig.

“Sir!”

Dudley was backing away from her slowly, his eyes fixed on Snape’s imposing figure as he retreated.

“Leaving so soon, Mr. Dursley? It sounded like you were just getting started,” Snape drawled pointedly, his eyebrow arched at the boy in question.

Dudley didn’t respond.

“Its fine, sir,” Rosalie interrupted, “Dudley was just—it was nothing.”

Snape turned his gaze on her and Dudley took the opportunity to turn tail and disappear back into the infirmary—which she was almost certain he’d been sleeping in. Snape turned at the last minute and watched him disappear through the door.

“Would care to enlighten me as to what I just had the pleasure of interrupting?” He asked pointedly.

Something in Rosalie shrunk away from telling the truth—not that she was even sure what that _was_ exactly. She had no idea what Snape had just interrupted, but she knew she felt ashamed of it for some reason and she was glad that he’d turned up when he had. She was embarrassed to admit she’d felt...what? Threatened? Afraid? All of the above, perhaps?

Rosalie felt her cheeks turn pink and she averted her gaze. 

“Nothing, sir. Dudley was just being _Dudley_ ,” She replied vaguely. 

Snape arched an eyebrow, “Was it not _Dudley_ who gave you a black eye recently?”

Rosalie sighed, “It’s okay, sir. Really.”

“It is not ‘okay’, Potter, for him to believe this kind of behaviour is acceptable,” Snape told her pointedly, “We have enough to worry about keeping you out of trouble without having to try and field your cousin’s behaviour as well.”

Rosalie’s blush deepened. 

“Of course,” She nodded.

Snape’s gaze held hers for a long moment. Rosalie couldn’t hold his gaze and she was relieved when he finally turned and swooped from the room almost as quickly and quietly as he’d arrived.

Rosalie let out a deep sigh.

She felt like she was living in some alternate reality. Dudley was suddenly menacing, Snape and her were getting along—kind of—and then there was that weird moment they’d shared in the kitchen that night. She couldn’t help but wonder when everything in her world had changed? When had she started not only recognising Snape as someone she could trust, but someone she could turn to?

She’d been dreading running into Snape again after the other night when he’d allowed her into his mind, as he had. She’d expected things to be weird between them, or perhaps for Snape to have reverted to simply hating her again because she’d seen inside his mind like she had in her fifth year. It was a stupid notion, though, seeing as how her Legilimency lessons would require just that on a regular basis, but still she hadn’t been able to shake the fear. Snape had been the same as ever with her though, the Snape she’d come to know, respect and even understand on some level over the past year. Things had been slowly changing the whole time, she imagined, she just hadn’t noticed it until just now.

Rosalie couldn’t help the grin that broke out across her face then, as she imagined the look on Ron’s face if she were to admit to him that she not only trusted, but _liked_ , Snape now. He’d probably die of disbelief or try and have her committed to St. Mungo’s mental health unit. What made it even better was the thought that she was pretty sure Snape had grown to like _her_ too—though he’d likely die before he ever admitted it. Just as well since the closest she ever wanted to come to Ron’s wrath should he ever find out was her own musings on the subject.

*

“Severus!” Lupin greeted with relative cheer, “I wasn’t expecting you back...”

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes as he ran headlong into the wolf, but instead nodded once briskly, “Lupin. I’m not here to relieve you of your duties. I was released from my own duties earlier than expected and came to set up my lab.”

“Here?”

Severus arched an eyebrow, “Yes, here. If I am to be spending so much of my time here, I will need one readily available so that I can continue my work. There is an old lab just off from the kitchen. It will be adequate for what I intend to use it for.”

Lupin glanced at the old wooden door to which Severus had gestured, it had remained locked for as long as they’d used the Grimmauld Place as a headquarters and he’d not put much thought to what lay beyond it. He was not that surprised to learn it was a potions lab, many of the older wizarding homes had them and the Black’s certainly would not have suffered going without. 

“I’m just getting lunch ready, can I get you something?” Lupin offered cordially.

Lupin was someone Severus often took lengths to avoid for a multitude of different reasons that started with him being a werewolf and ended with him simply finding the man irritating beyond belief. Yet he needed to talk to the man, perhaps now was a good time for him to broach the subject.

“Tell me,” Severus began, “how has Mr. Dursley’s behaviour been the last day or so, particularly in regards to Miss Potter?”

Lupin frowned at him in dim-witted confusion, “Dudley? I can’t say I’ve really seen the boy. He keeps to the infirmary mostly, I’ve seen him in here once or twice—always alone though—Rose hasn’t been to see him at all as far as I’m aware.”

Severus didn’t react, though he knew better. He was surprised Potter hadn’t divulged the incident between herself and her cousin to the wolf as close as they seemed. 

“She’s been to see him, he gave her a black eye for the trouble,” Severus revealed. 

Lupin looked back at him with a surprised looked that seemed to ask ‘really?’ without him verbalising anything. Severus didn’t feel the need to dignify the look with a response.

“He’s been no trouble since I’ve been here. I’m sure he only struck out by accident—”

“How does one accidentally throw their fist into another’s eye? Madame Pomfrey witnessed the act, it was no ‘accident’,” Severus interrupted in a sarcastic drawl.

“What I meant—if you’d let me finish—was perhaps it was simply a ‘heat of the moment’ act that he now, no doubt, regrets. He’s been quiet as a mouse since I arrived. I don’t think he’s anything to worry about, Rose hasn’t mentioned anything.”

Severus sneered at him, “‘Heat of the moment’ is _no_ excuse for that kind of violence.”

“I agree, of course—”

“Just watch him,” Severus growled.

Lupin stared at him. Severus’ gaze darkened.

“I’m sure you’ll agree that we have enough to deal with protecting Miss Potter from external threats. I for one don’t wish to have to start fielding internal ones as well,” Snape pointed out harshly.

Lupin nodded slowly, “I’ll keep an eye on him, but I think you worry too much, Severus. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”

Severus didn’t respond, the werewolf’s lack of observational skills aside there was little more he could do. He’d keep an eye on the boy while he was around, but whether Lupin stayed true to his promise or not was in the werewolf’s hands. Severus knew first hand that ‘family’ meant nothing to some people, and grieving or not, Dursley was angry and he looked ready to take it out on Potter.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Four**

Rosalie was glad when Dumbledore finally stopped by Grimmauld Place to cast the necessary enchantments over her new training room. She was finding that as nice as it was to be away from the Dursley’s, without her friends around as her constant companions, life at Grimmauld Place was fairly dull. So the idea of something to do—even training—was appealing. Not to mention the fact that she was getting tired of Dudley’s recent stalker-like tendencies in regards to her general person. The only place he didn’t seem to follow her was her bedroom and that was most likely because Remus roomed only a couple of doors down. She wasn’t sure what he was up to, since he went to lengths to try and conceal his presence. But the only other presence in the house was usually either Snape or Remus and it happened regardless of who was or wasn’t there, which told her it was her cousin. Usually his cloak and dagger actions would be amusing, but after that brief, uncomfortable confrontation they’d had in the hall just a couple of days prior she’d been more wary of Dudley and his movements.

Dudley was obviously afraid of any fully grown wizard, therefore he was also unlikely to come anywhere near her training room while either Remus or Snape was inside, a double plus as far as she was concerned. 

She was unprepared, however, to find Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for her when she arrived for her first training session rather than Remus as she’d expected and she wondered when her godfather had left.

The shock must have shown on her face. 

Shacklebolt chuckled at her.

“Albus sent Remus on an assignment early this morning and Severus was unable to make it back it time,” he explained good-naturedly.

“Ok,” She replied nervously, not sure how to take this man’s quiet control and strength. He looked like a pillar of power held in check by nothing more than his own strength of will, and while she knew he meant her no harm, his image was a formidable one to contemplate duelling with.

Shacklebolt nodded, “We’re going to work on teaching you the skills of deflection and diversion. You have been lucky so far in the battles you have fought with Death Eater’s, but until you have begun your instruction in advanced duelling, your best chance should you come face to face with a Death Eater is deflection and diversion. Everyone knows you have an important part to play in this war, Miss Potter, and it is our job to see you well equipped to survive long enough to fulfil that task.”

Rosalie nodded, “Rose, please call me Rose.”

Shacklebolt nodded, “Kingsley. _Declino_ is a deflection charm, which while effective, requires skill and timing. One of the benefits of this charm is that you can direct its returning path. A demonstration, here—”

He motioned for her to cast a spell at him. Taking out her wand, she cast a half-hearted disarming spell at the Auror.

“ _Declino_!”

Rosalie felt the breath knocked from her chest as she was flung backwards, her back slamming painfully into the wall behind her with a sickening crack that she seemed to feel through her whole body. Coughing, her hands flew up to her chest as she fought to bring air back into her lungs, and it was only as she did so that she realised her wand too was gone. 

Shacklebolt chuckled. 

Rosalie glared up at him furiously.

“There’s the spitfire I’d been told about,” He laughed.

“You almost killed me!” She growled at him breathlessly.

Shacklebolt shook his head, “Hardly, the wall faired far worse, I assure you. But as you just experienced, the force of the original spell can be influenced by your own power and intent on its return passage.”

“Why isn’t this taught at Hogwarts if it’s so useful?” She asked as she pushed herself upright and stretched out her bruised back, fighting to bring her breathing back under control as she did so.

“Don’t be fooled by the simplicity of the incantation. It requires a level of skill few possess and if the timing of the charm is off it becomes little more than a weak shield that fails to block even a half-hearted Expelliarmus,” He grinned.

Rosalie scowled to herself as he handed back her wand and began to go through the motions of teaching her the wand technique.

‘ _Kind of like a backhand in tennis_ ’ she thought absently, and began attempting to hit imaginary tennis balls back at her opponent.

“Good,” Shacklebolt stated as he studied her wand form, “Now let’s see how you do under fire.”

Rosalie took a focusing breath as he moved to stand opposite her once more.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” Shacklebolt incanted.

“ _Declino_!” Rosalie watched as the spell was deflected, shooting away from her wildly in the direction of the bay windows, but fizzling out halfway there. 

Rosalie sighed.

“Good, but you need to work on direction, as well as strength. You have to do more than lob the charm back, you have to direct the focus of the spell and hone it’s intent with you own power.”

Rosalie frowned, “How do I hone the focus of the spell that has been cast at me and still maintain the power and concentration to cast the deflection charm though?”

Shacklebolt paused for a moment in thought, “Think of it like your training Occlumency. I have heard you have all but mastered the art, a difficult task that requires a level of concentration that it takes many years to achieve. Occlumency requires you to split the focus of your mind, and in many ways this is no different. In the forefront of your mind you have the deflection charm at the ready, your focus on deflecting the curse being sent your way before it hits, but behind that you are focused on the spell that your opponent has used—in our case, _Petrificus Totalus_. So when I cast the curse at you, you’re prepared to deflect, but the minute the incantation has left your lips you are no longer deflecting the curse, but almost wordlessly recasting it in your opponent’s direction.” 

“So really,” Rosalie replied slowly as she sorted through the information in her mind, “the majority of _Declino’s_ power is what is poured into the original curse, yet it is so difficult to cast successfully because it requires two focused points of intent.”

Shacklebolt nodded, “Exactly. We’ll make an Auror out of you yet, Rose.”

Rosalie smiled back, its turn non-committing.

“Again,” Shacklebolt replied, gesturing for her to take position opposite him.

“ _Confringo_!”

Rosalie’s eyes widened as the curse hurtled towards her—the blasting curse! Did he mean to fry her if she missed? If that hit her...Steeling her resolve she hardened her focus.

“ _Declino_!” She very nearly screamed, throwing all her focus into the return curse the moment the deflection left her lips. 

The spell gained speed with frightening intensity as it shot back towards the Auror. Shacklebolt stood his ground until the last minute, sidestepping the curse at the last second to watch as it flew past him and blasted into the wall. Rosalie stood transfixed as she stared at the hole she’d just blasted through the wall, the edges of it smouldering from where the curse had burnt through it. 

“Oh Merlin!” She breathed, a little stunned at the damage she’d managed to cause. 

“Good!” Shacklebolt cheered, “Now why don’t we try something a little harder?”

Rosalie stared at him.

“ _Diffindo_!”

Rose gasped, and lunged out of the way as he slung a severing charm in her direction. Pain blossomed hotly in her shoulder, and her hand came away slick with blood as she grasped at it. A thin line had been sliced into the tender skin of her arm and she looked up at him in shock, blood coating her fingers.

“Speed is invaluable,” Shacklebolt lectured, “Death Eater’s won’t stop and wait for the all clear, always be ready for them.”

Rosalie fought back the flinch that threatened as he took hold of her arm and muttered a healing charm to mend the wound he’d inflicted. 

“I wouldn’t use them, but you need to learn to defend against stronger, more deadly curses. Death Eater’s will not be using leg-locker curses or simple stunning charms,” He told her carefully as they resumed their positions. 

Rosalie nodded, not entirely comfortable with the thought that she’d be standing there alone, fending off all of the worst curses and hexes the Auror knew.

“Again.”

Resolutely Rosalie took up her stance.

*

Somehow her training session with Shacklebolt—which she’d started out so enthusiastic over—had left her more disillusioned and depressed than she’d felt nearly all day. He’d pushed her hard, and she was aching all over despite the fact that he’d healed her almost immediately every time he’d landed a shot—which had been more often than not. She didn’t understand how she was meant to defeat Voldemort, a wizard far more capable than she was, when she couldn’t even win a duel against Shacklebolt. In truth the Auror had whipped her arse and she suspected he’d been going easy on her.

She ignored the dark voice in her head that hinted to her that perhaps she wasn’t _meant_ to defeat Voldemort, knowing that it wasn’t an opinion she was willing to consider, no matter how desperate things seemed.

Rosalie stretched her aching back, sure that there was one or two bruises that she’d missed, and headed for the library. It was fast becoming one of her favourite spots in the house to think. Quiet. Secluded. Though instead of making a beeline for her favourite corner, Rosalie walked along the shelves scanning the morbid and strange sounding titles absently as she let her mind wander. Most of it was Dark Arts literature and some creepy looking spell books which looked more likely to take her hands off than teach her anything interesting or useful, but she’d managed to unearth a couple of interesting things here and there—including a stash of magical romance novels tucked away in a dark corner of one bookshelf behind a series of nasty sounding potion books that should have probably been burned. She’s peeked inside a couple of the novels, her cheeks burning a fiery red with embarrassment as she’d taken note of the uncomfortably lifelike illustrations that decorated the pages— _moving_ illustrations!—before she’d slammed them shut and returned them to their place. 

It was as she was doing so, however, that she’d found something that had truly piqued her curiosity.‘ _The A-Z Healer’s Companion_ ’, written by a Healer named Salus Eirny, was an instructional practice text outlining common and not-so-common wizarding ailments and the spells and potions used to cure them. 

“Potter.”

Rosalie felt herself tense and she quickly spun around to face him, “Dudley!”

She hadn’t heard him come in, which made her wondered if he’d already been in the room when she’d entered. She cursed herself for letting her guard down, especially when he’d been so bold in venturing from his room lately. 

Dudley glared at her.

“Did you want something?” She asked, not sure where this silence on his part was leading. His behaviour had been so out of character since his parent’s deaths that she was finding it difficult to predict his actions. 

“What do you think?” He snapped, “Parents would be nice, but you already took care of that, didn’t you?”

“Dudley—” Rosalie just shook her head. 

That was her first mistake. She’s learnt early on that you never take your eyes off an enemy until you were far enough away not to be caught in the crossfire if they lashed out. She winced as Dudley suddenly sent her flying sideways, sending her stumbling painfully into a solid looking armchair to her right. 

She whimpered as her shoulder slammed into the wooden framework.

“You listen to me, Potter,” He hissed as he lent over her, trapping her against the cushions of the chair, “You’re going to pay for what you did to my parents, one way or another.”

Rosalie glared up at him. 

“I did nothing!” She hissed back, believing—for perhaps the first time—the words which she had spoken.

Dudley snarled at her, “Bullshit. If you weren’t such a freak they’d have never bothered us. It’s _all_ your fault, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You think I care what you think?” She growled as she felt her temper rising—which was her second mistake.

“You should,” He growled, “after all... I’m the one in the position of power now, aren’t I, Potter?”

Rosalie gasped and struggled against him as he hefted her up by the collar of her clothes and threw her to the floor. Rosalie managed to curl herself into a ball just in time as Dudley drew back and landed a well placed kick to her ribs. 

Rosalie cried out in pain as she felt the breath leave her lungs in a violent whoosh. The air felt like it was being forced out of her as a red hot poker pierced her chest. Pain exploded across her side and she lay there gasping as Dudley turned and strode from the library carelessly. Tears of frustration and pain pooled in her eyes and began to leak down the side of her face pitifully as she watched him leave. 

Fuck him. 

She _hated_ him. 

She just wanted to go a week—just _one_ —without getting herself hurt or injured in some way! She should have kneed him in the groin. Maybe she still would. Taking a deep breath and trying not to cry out in pain she called for Kreacher. 

“Mistress calls?” Kreacher sneered disdainfully at her as he appeared in front of her.

“I want you to make something to eat for my cousin,” She told him breathlessly, clutching her battered ribs as she spoke.

“You wish for Kreacher to make food for that muggle filth?” The house elf hissed.

Rosalie nodded, “Yes, but I give you my full permission to spit in it or perhaps mix a laxative potion into his food... maybe both. You mustn’t poison him or add anything to his food that will in anyway harm him, though. Do you understand?”

Kreacher gave her a rather terrifying looking smile, “Kreacher understands.”

“Good.” Rosalie agreed, “Bring it to me when you’re done.”

The elf disappeared with a soft pop and Rosalie groaned. She was probably only making the situation worse by drugging his food but she didn’t care. Her birthday wasn’t all that far off and she knew once she had her wand he wouldn’t dare touch her. 

Using the armchair she’d been so recently trapped against, Rosalie hoisted herself back onto her feet wincing as her ribs protested against the movement. She hadn’t heard them crack, so she didn’t _think_ they were broken, but she’d watch them just in case. Later, when she was either sure Dudley was asleep or preferably absent from the infirmary, she’d go scour Madame Pomfrey’s stores for some more bruise salve—if there was any left. 

Rosalie felt a well of resentment bubble up inside her over her cousin and was thankful when Kreacher reappeared at her side once more effectively breaking her from her dark thoughts.

“Kreacher did as his most respected Mistress bade him,” The elf offered and Rosalie stared at him in shock as he held the lunch tray out to her. 

Apparently that was all it took to get the decrepit little elf on her side, drugging her muggle cousins food. It said a lot about what the elf had been taught to respect and for a moment she felt her stomach roll uncomfortably that he approved of her actions. What did that say about her?

“What did you put in it?” She questioned, suddenly unsure whether her instructions had left any loopholes available for the elf to take his own liberties.

“Kreacher did what you asked, Mistress,” He confirmed again, “Kreacher mixed laxative potion into the filthy muggle’s food.”

“Nothing else?” Rosalie prompted.

“No, Mistress,” Kreacher agreed, “Is Mistress wanting Kreacher to add something else?”

“No,” Rosalie told him quickly, “It’s perfect as it is. Thank you, Kreacher.” 

Rosalie stood staring down at the tray of food in her hands in indecision for a long moment, as she thought about what the elf had said, torn between her desire to get her own back against Dudley and her fear that she was contemplating doing something that Dark Wizards would approve of.

‘Stop being ridiculous,’ she told herself firmly, ‘you aren’t doing this to Dudley because he’s a muggle; you’re doing it because he’s a bully who has made your life a living hell growing up.’

There _was_ a difference. No matter what Kreacher believed, this had nothing to do with Dudley being a muggle.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” She repeated, “Please take this to my cousin.”

*

Rosalie sighed as she lay in bed later that night, tucked away hours earlier than she would have been under normal circumstances. Her ribs were screaming at her though, so much so that she had to keep her breathing short and shallow in order to dull the pain by restricting movement. It wasn’t helping much and the shallow breaths only made her want to cough which, in her current state, was an experience in and of itself. She was almost certain now that Dudley had broken something; the lurid looking bruise that had blossomed across the side of her ribcage was only the first indicator, she _knew_ bruised ribs didn’t hurt this much. Every time she moved searing pain shot through her side like a white-hot knife, it was almost unbearable.

Rosalie contemplated getting up again in search of pain killers, but that meant facing Dudley again, and in her current state the notion was unthinkable. She just hoped the laxative potion had worked and he was currently a slave to the toilet. It only served him right. Anyway, she was not sure the trip was worth the hassle since Madame Pomfrey was unlikely to have left any of her stronger painkillers simply lying around the infirmary and the mediwitch had long since vacated the premises. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, when the house had gone dark and quiet and Rosalie was still lying awake sweating profusely she gave in and hauled herself up and out of bed. The pain eased slightly as she sat up and she remained sitting on the edge of her bed for a couple of minutes taking a few slow even breaths, her hands braced tightly against her side over the injured ribs. Yet, every time her muscles tensed she was assaulted with a brutal stabbing pain that left her near breathless. Rosalie dismissed the idea of going to Remus for help almost the second it entered her mind, though she felt dizzy and light headed when she tried to stand. They sat through dinner together without him noticing or becoming any the wiser as to her state. To wake him now...

The less anyone knew the better.

What would the world think if they found out their precious saviour was unable to defend herself against even her cousin? Not to mention it would mean explaining all about her relatives and she wasn’t in the mood to divulge any of her more of her secrets. 

Gritting her teeth she pushed herself up into a standing position and clutched at the bed frame as she waited for the wave of pain and dizziness to pass. She knew going into the infirmary where Dudley was sleeping was out of the question, so instead she made a beeline for the bathroom hoping Mrs Weasley might have stocked the bathroom cupboard with some basic everyday potions. Rosalie hobbled down the hall as quickly as the jostling of her ribs could tolerate, suddenly desperate for something now pain relief was in sight. She made her way straight to the bathroom cupboard as she entered the room, flipping the door open to peer inside. 

“Pain reliever, pain reliever, pain reliever...” She chanted softly under her breath as she scanned the cupboards contents. A multitude of little bottles all neatly labelled lined the shelf and Rosalie felt her spirits lift. Blood replenishing potions, contraceptive potions, headache relievers, _hangover cure_...

“Damn it!”

Turning around to rest her back up against the sink she ran a tired, frustrated hand over her face. Of all the potions not to have, she couldn’t believe they were out of a simple pain reliever. How did a hangover potion rank above that? Unless, of course, the reason she couldn’t find any was because they had all been consumed? She considered taking the headache reliever for a moment before deciding against it, knowing that the way it was designed, it was unlikely to do anything for her ribs. 

She stood there wracking her brains for another place in the house that she might find something she could take to help with the pain. There wasn’t anywhere else she could think of that Mrs Wealsey, or perhaps even Madame Pomfrey would have stashed potions. 

“Heat pack?” she thought aloud, “Or maybe an icepack?” 

It meant braving the stairs in order to get down to the kitchen, but at this point it was worth it. Fire was burning through her lungs, each breath more painful the last and she didn’t think she could simply ignore it anymore and go back to bed. 

Rosalie made her way out of the bathroom slowly, walking gingerly with her hand braced up against her side for support wondering how such a short distance could feel like miles. It was the stairs that would cause her the biggest issues though, and she cursed the person who ever thought it would be a good idea to put the kitchen in the basement! She was breathless again by the time she made it to the bottom of the stairs, her head spinning as waves of nausea crashed over her and she took a moment to lean against the wall as she tried to catch her breath, fighting the urge to cough.

She didn’t noticed the pair of dark eyes that were watching her from the top of the stairs, staring down at her in curious concern; she was too wrapped up in her pain to notice the presence of another coming up behind her on silent feet. 

Rosalie decided to push onwards after a moment, making her way into the kitchen where she immediately started to scan the room for something she could use. Did wizards even use heat packs? 

“Looking for something, Miss Potter?”

Rosalie spun around at the sound of Snape’s familiar dark silky tones coming from behind her, jarring her ribs painfully in the process. She could do no more to prevent the cry that was torn from her lips then, than she could help the blackness that began to steal her vision as the pain engulfed her. Her hands flew back to her ribcage to brace against the pain and she felt her knees begin to buckle. 

“S-sir!” She stuttered in surprise.

Snape’s hands shot out to steady her, his hands cupping her under her arms to pull her upright once more as she began to fall and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the kitchen table Snape standing in front of her watching her through suspicious eyes as she pulled herself back together.

“Are you going to tell me what it is I just witnessed?” he asked her plainly.

Rosalie sighed and shut her eyes, why did it have to be Snape—of all people!—who found her like this? Why did he always seem to happen upon her when she was at her weakest? He wasn’t even meant to be there, or so she had gathered when Remus had told her that he’d be staying the night. She’d simply assumed that that meant Remus would be her sole protector until someone came to relieve him of his post the next day. Yet clearly she’d been mistaken, unless Remus had left for the night, Snape taking his place. 

Snape gripped her chin and tilted her face up looking at it this way and that and she realised suddenly that he was looking for any evidence that Dudley might have hit her again.

‘You won’t find it there,’ she thought to herself, although aloud she told him: “I’m fine.”

“Do me the curtsey of not lying to me when I ask you a question, Potter,” Snape told her briskly, “I am no imbecile and I’d appreciate it if you did not treat me as such.”

Rosalie gasped as he flicked her hands away from her side and expertly flipped up the edge of her top before she had time to protest. Blushing a brilliant red, she pulled material of her shirt back down hastily, but the damage had already been done. He’d seen the mass of bluish-purple skin and it didn’t take genius to put the rest of it together.

Snape’s face visibly darkened. 

“You’re cousin?”

Rosalie simply nodded.

“Are they broken?” he asked watching as she grimaced in pain as she covered her mouth to cough.

“I think so,” She replied quietly.

“May I?” the Potions Master asked, indicating to her ribs and extending his hand. Rosalie nodded awkwardly, feeling a different kind of blush rise to her cheeks as the man before her reached out and ran his fingers searchingly over the affected side, carefully feeling for any obvious break or disfigurement. She was surprised at how gentle the touch was and how pleasant she found it to be. She could feel the warmth of his flesh seeping through the thin material of her shirt and was amazed to feel it eased her discomfort somewhat. 

“Probably just a clean fractured, I will brew you some skele-gro but you will still need to bind your ribs tonight to make sure they heal correctly,” He told her as he drew his hand back. If he saw the blush on her face he didn’t comment. 

“Here,” Snape offered, handing her a familiar looking jar, “Bruise salve.”

“Thank you,” she told him accepting the proffered jar, “But you don’t have to worry. About the Skele-gro, I mean. It’s late and I know you are busy.”

Snape glared at her, “and tomorrow when we are scheduled to start your training? What will your excuse be when you can barely move?”

Rosalie looked away from him, hating that she knew he was right. She didn’t like to feel like she was a burden though, at least not any more so than she already was. Their tentative working relationship aside, she doubted that Snape wanted to spend what little spare time he had babysitting _her_. She doubted any of the people who’d been assigned the task wanted to. To them, she imagined, she was just one more headache, one more responsibility piled on their back that they didn’t have time for. After all she was almost 17—almost an adult—who wouldn’t resent having to take time out to look after that? Not to mention she was a mess. She was a mess that couldn’t sleep properly, who was always getting hurt, whose emotions felt like they were permanently at breaking point...

“Have you taken a pain relieving potion yet?” He prompted.

Rosalie shook her head, trying to will away the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes.

“I couldn’t find one.”

Merlin, she was crying. Again! And this time in front of Snape! Shame flooded her cheeks and she swiped roughly at her eyes. It was too much—the pain was too much, her guilt was too much, just _everything_ was _too much_! Her relatives were dead and she felt disgusted at herself for feeling even the littlest bit happy that she’d never have to see them again. She killed someone who’d been trying to hurt her, trying to violate her and she was sick thinking about it all the time, sick of feeling guilty over it, sick of seeing him every time she closed her eyes! She was sick of hurting. Sick of being tired. Sick of feeling pathetic. Sick of worrying all the time...

“I’m sorry,” she whispered roughly, staunchly refusing to look at him in the face or even lift her head, “Thank you for your help, sir.”

Rosalie gritted her teeth and pushed herself off of the table, clutching tightly at the jar of bruise salve he’d given her. That, at least, would help at least a little bit and it would be enough. It would have to be. Tears were leaking steadily down her face and she was just glad that she hadn’t descended into all out sobs like she had with Remus. 

“Potter.”

Rosalie stopped halfway to the door, her back to the last man she’d ever wanted to break down in front of. Merlin, why Snape? Remus at least was like a father-figure to her. That made it a little easier to cope with. She wanted Snape’s respect, and Severus Snape respected strength.

“Potter—Rosalie,” Snape called again, his voice neutral, “Sit down.”

Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to turn around. 

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape repeated, his voice firm, yet not unkind. 

Rosalie jumped as an elegant hand came to rest on her shoulder and guide her gently back over to the kitchen table. Rosalie let herself be led easily, glad that Snape remained at her back and she wasn’t forced to face him. 

It hurt to cry and somehow that only made things worse. Silent tears had become all out sobs, complete with hitching and quaking breathing, red eyes and blocked nose and sinuses. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped mournfully, “Merlin, I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this—I don’t—”

Snape sighed, knowing that they were likely tears of frustration and exhaustion. In all honesty he wasn’t surprised that she was finally breaking down given what she’d been through the last week or so. It was nothing to be ashamed of, yet she refused to maintain eye contact with him or even lift her head. He was not the kind of man who felt comfortable offering soothing words or heartfelt reassurances, so instead he stood behind her, offering her what privacy and support he could while he waited for her to calm.

“It is a natural reaction, you needn’t be ashamed,” he told her, though he doubted she heard it.

It took her ten minutes to calm to the point where she could breathe without her breath hitching mid-inhale, though her hands still shook as she swiped at the tears on her face. Rosalie felt her embarrassment flood her cheeks at such an outburst and was just thankful Snape had had the decency not to comment or ridicule her, though she was sure the thought had crossed his mind. 

“Drink this,” Snape commanded placing both a familiar looking pale blue pain reliever on the table in front of her and a calming potion. Briefly, Rosalie wondered just how many potions the man had on his person at any given time. He seemed to pull vials out of thin air on command and she wondered if that was something all potions masters could do, or whether the talent was unique to Snape.

She downed them both in quick succession.

Rosalie took a deep steadying breath as the pain reliever kicked in allowing her the full use of her lungs once more. The calming draught, however, was more subtle. While she was no longer crying and her hands had stopped shaking, she still _felt_ the same, only more in control of herself and her emotions. It was a forced calm—a chemical calm—but she was glad for it. The humiliation of breaking down like that aside, each gasping breath had felt like a hot knife in her chest as she jostled her poor ribs. 

“I’m sorry,” She repeated once more without the humiliation that had coloured her previous attempts.

Snape didn’t answer knowing any answer from him would make little difference to her and her feelings and would be out of character on his part. Instead he simply inclined his head—a minute gesture, but a gesture of acknowledgement all the same.

“The Headmaster will have to be informed of this,” Snape told her.

Rosalie started to shake her head, “No—”

“You are supposed to be safe here, Potter,” Snape interrupted, “Those of us who have been assigned to guard you have enough to worry about without keeping an eye out for your cousin as well. Twice now he has vented his anger on you. He cannot be allowed to stay!”

Rosalie sighed, “I know. It’s just that I feel like I should be responsible for him in a way. He’s not wrong to hate me for everything that’s happened.”

A heavy silence settled over them in which Snape regarded her closely and Rosalie refused to meet his gaze.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning in guilt,” Snape began calmly after a moment or two, “to have it sit on your chest, crushing the very air out of your lungs with the weight of your sins. The difference between us, Potter, is I am guilty of the crimes my conscience bleeds for; you however, are not responsible for what happened to your relatives and certainly not for your cousin’s actions in his grief. He is on the cusp of adulthood, the time has long since past where anyone other than himself should be taking responsibility for the things he says and does as a man.” 

“I know. I do,” She whispered.

Except Dudley had never taken responsibility for anything in his life, he didn’t know how to and she had always been his favourite victim.

“I know it’s not my fault that they’re dead, I’ve finally come to accept that. It’s just that... I still care. I don’t know why I do, and to be honest I don’t particularly _want_ to, but I do and sometimes...” Rosalie sighed, “I just get so tired of caring. Of feeling. I can’t help it though. How am I supposed to survive with everything I feel bottled up inside me? How do you balance out the bad with the good? I don’t want to hurt anymore, I don’t want to feel guilty, or responsible for anyone other than myself...I’m sick of walking around feeling like I have the weight of the whole bloody Wizarding world on my shoulders. Why do people look at me like that? Why do they expect me to save them? What do they honestly expect a girl, not yet legally an adult, to be able to do that they can’t...?”

She could feel the hysteria bubble up within her again, but the calming potion did what it was supposed to and tampered it back down.

“I see that man—the Death Eater from my room—every time I close my eyes,” She continued more sedately after a minute, “Sometimes it’s a nightmare where he’s attacking me again and I wake up and for a moment I’m _glad_ his gone, I’m _happy_ he’s dead. Then I’ll close my eyes again and all I can see is him lying dead on the floor and I’m covered in blood—his blood—and it’s like it’s trying to drown me. I know he was a bad mad, perhaps even an evil one. I know what he was about to do to me and I can imagine what might have happened following that. I know that what I did, I did in self defence...but if I can feel guilty over a man like that, how am I supposed to set out murder Voldemort and walk away with my sanity intact?”

Her eyes were very green and glazed once more with tears when she looked up at him, and there was a kind of desperation in her face that he recognised—had experienced even—and for a moment he felt connected to her on whole new level. 

“If you truly believe our defeat of the Dark Lord can be considered murder, then how do you define what he does to his victims on a regular basis?” Snape asked her with an odd kind of suppressed intensity, “He kills for the enjoyment of it, Potter. He derives true pleasure from the pain and suffering of others and his power over whether they live or die. He rejoices in their screams and tears, and laughs at their begging and prayers for mercy. Surely you cannot be so naive to believe that the acts he commits and your own are on the same level? Good people sometimes kill. ‘Murder’ is sometimes necessary and tearing yourself to pieces over it isn’t doing you or anyone else any good. Tom Riddle is not redeemable. He cannot be saved. He is a true sociopath and he _will not stop_.”

“I know!” she cried, throwing her hands up as if to physically block his words, “I’ve seen what he does to them, how he plays with them...the visions I used to get more than opened up my eyes on exactly how evil Voldemort was—is! I know that he has to be stopped; my fears are all selfish ones! I don’t know how much more I can take. I mean... do you really believe that I hold some magical key to besting a wizard more than double my age with double my experience?”

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. He could see self doubt clearly reflected in her eyes and knew then that she didn’t expect to survive the final encounter with the Dark Lord.

“Dumbledore believes you have the ability, Potter,” he replied.

Rosalie shook her head, “I asked what _you_ believe.”

Snape stared at her.

“You’ve never been afraid of telling me exactly what you think of me,” She pushed, “Do you really think, that when it comes down to it I’ll face him and walk away with my life?”

“You already have, Potter,” Snape answered, “on numerous occasions.”

Rosalie sighed heavily.

“I believe,” He continued, holding her gaze firmly with his own, “that when the time comes, you will not be standing alone. The Dark Lord may have age and experience on his side, but he makes the mistake of surrounding himself with people who, for the most part, value their own lives above that of his own _or_ their cause. You have people here who believe in you so strongly they would lay down their lives to save you, Potter. That’s all the belief you need.”

“I don’t want anyone to die for me,” Rosalie responded in disgust. 

“And that’s where you differ from the Dark Lord,” Snape returned.

Rosalie didn’t reply, instead she looked away not sure how to respond.

“Potter,” Snape continued, “You have my word that between now and then, whenever that time may be, I will do everything in my power to make sure you are prepared to face him. You are not alone in any of this.”


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Five**

“It sounds like you have had an eventful few days.”

Rosalie smiled half-heartedly at her professor but remained silent. 

Dumbledore sighed heavily and reached forward to take her hands in his, “I wish that you would have said something to me sooner. I knew that you were not always happy with your relatives, Rosalie, but I was unaware that they were harming you. For that I am deeply sorry, my dear.”

Rosalie squeezed his hands reassuringly and looked up at him, “It’s okay. It’s not how you think it is, sir. Dudley hit or punched me a couple of times growing up, but the worst I got from Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia was a backhand here and there when I did something stupid. They were never physically abusive towards me.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly, “I am glad to hear it. Still, it makes my heart ache to think of you suffering under their hands growing up—and again now. Professor Snape was as furious as I’ve ever seen him when he came to speak to me. That said, I’ve made arrangements for your cousin to go and live with his Aunt. He will be safe there and his memory will be modified.”

Rosalie nodded. 

“Sir?” Rosalie began, before cutting herself off, not sure how to proceed, “Dudley’s behaviour over the last week or so was so different from normal, I was wondering if perhaps...”

Dumbledore shook his head, “He was checked for the Imperious Curse, my dear, and I’m sorry to say the test was negative. Mr. Dursley was acting under his own influence.”

Rosalie nodded again, not sure if she was pleased or saddened by the revelation. She couldn’t help but feel relieved that Dudley would soon be leaving, though. He didn’t belong in this world—her world—and it had felt wrong to have him there. She was such different people here and in the muggle world and it felt like her two personalities, the hero and the dirt beneath her relative’s feet, had been warring with one another the past couple of days. Maybe once he was gone she’d be able to breathe again and begin to heal. Perhaps this was what she needed to find ‘The Girl-Who-Lived’ again.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are most welcome,” He told her kindly.

“Have there been any more attacks, sir?” Rosalie asked after a moment, taking her hands back from the Headmaster’s and sliding further back into her seat.

Dumbledore shook his head, “Minor raids here and there, with no major casualties. Professor Snape informs me that Voldemort appears to have no clear target at present. The attacks on both your relative’s home and the Weasley’s property were blitz attacks designed to try and capture you, when that was unsuccessful however, he was forced to take a step back and recalculate his next move. He knows we have moved you to a secure location by now and for now you are out of his reach.”

Rosalie worried her bottom lip, “What’s our next move, sir?”

“We shall continue in our hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. Our project was necessarily put on hold last year for obvious reasons,” Dumbledore replied, his tone expressing the regret he felt at the events which had unfolded, “and while it was fortunate in many ways that we had yet to leave the school when the attack occurred, we are now several weeks behind in our hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes, it would seem.”

Rosalie nodded, “You want to make the trip out to the cave, sir?”

“Soon,” Dumbledore agreed, “However, there are certain things that require my attention before we can depart.”

“I understand,” she returned quietly, “Things are only going to get worse from now on, aren’t they?”

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, “It is a fact of war, Rose, that things often have to get worse before they can get better.”

Rosalie nodded, “But now that Hogwarts is no longer safe...”

“With the vanishing cabinets removed and the Death Eater’s who infiltrated its walls gone, Hogwarts is secure. I have spent the last few weeks strengthening the wards that are already in place and an old friend of mine is arriving in a couple of days to help search the school for any further points of weakness before we add to the already vast protective layers that make up the school’s core protection. With any luck we will reopen in time for the new school year, however, I fear many of our numbers will not return with the threat of Voldemort looming overhead,” Dumbledore told her sadly.

“Hogwarts is the safest place they could be,” Rosalie sighed sadly.

“Many no longer feel that way,” Dumbledore replied, “Many believed Hogwarts to be impenetrable, and unfortunately they beliefs have been shaken. Many more will want to keep their loved ones close now more than ever and the thought of sending them away to a school that is in Voldemort’s direct sights, especially now, is sheer ludicrous.” 

“What will happen to seventh years wanting to sit their NEWTs?” Rosalie asked.

“I suppose many students will transfer to other schools to sit their final exams, others will likely participate by correspondence,” he explained, “It is unfortunate that many will not return, however it is their prerogative not to do so during times such as the one we currently face.”

Rosalie nodded slowly.

“I doubt would have been able to return to school this year anyway,” she said after a moment.

“The future is not set in stone,” Dumbledore offered sagely, “It is true that it is unlikely that you will return to school this year, however, that needn’t keep you from your studies. Many of the skills you are being trained in, it is possible to sit a NEWT for. You never know what tomorrow might bring.”

Rosalie fought the urge to roll her eyes good naturedly at the cliché. 

“I’m pretty certain I don’t even want to be an Auror anymore,” Rosalie told him honestly.

The look Dumbledore bestowed on her told her he’d already known, or at least realised she would eventually come to that decision, “There are many other avenues still open to you. You are young and talented, even if you don’t always recognise these talents. The right path will come to you in time.”

Rosalie nodded, “I guess. There is not much point in looking until Voldemort is out of the way, though is there?”

“There is always a reason. Don’t let Voldemort stop you from pursuing your dreams. There is always a reason to keep living, Rose,” He told her wisely, “It is our dreams and passions that keep us strong. What would we be without them?”

What were her dreams and passions though? She knew she didn’t want to be an Auror, but where did that leave her? What were her talents other than staying alive when evil wizards came after her? She realised suddenly that she didn’t really have any hobbies, at least nothing that truly interested her. What did she even _do_ in her spare time? She liked flying, but not enough to make a career out of it, certainly not enough to win a war for. She knew Hermione was interested in research and spell construction and Ron still had his heart set on becoming an Auror like she had once dreamed...neither option really appealed to her though. 

Dumbledore smiled and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze as he stood, “You’ll find your path, Rose. Give it time.”

*

Rosalie was up in her room thumbing through the pages of the healing book she’d happened upon the day before just as Dudley had decided to stage his confrontation, when to familiar faces knocked and popped their heads in through her door.

“I just saw your cousin being marched out the front door,” Ron said by way of greeting. 

Rosalie looked up in surprise, a grin spreading across her face at the sight of her two best friends entering the room. She met Hermione halfway as the two flew across the room into each other’s arms in a tight embrace. Ron chuckled, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘women’.

“How are you?” Hermione asked. 

Rosalie smiled at them, “Good. I missed you guys.”

“Same,” Ron agreed with a grin, “Mione’s be driving me nuts! All we’ve bloody done is _research_ this or _wedding_ that since we left here! It’s been awful.”

Hermione scowled at the redhead, “It’s important, Ron! Besides, no one was forcing you to help.”

“What bloody choice did I have? I’d look like a right bastard if I left it all to you,” Ron retorted.

Rosalie gestured the other two further into the room and together they sprawled themselves across her bed as Ron took a seat at her desk.

“It’s not long now, is it?” Rosalie asked, referring to the approaching Weasley wedding.

“Day after you’re birthday,” Ron confirmed with a sigh, “Can’t come quick enough as far as I’m concerned.”

Hermione smiled girlishly, “I think it’s nice, especially at a time like this. It’s a celebration of love, after all. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.”

Rosalie nodded her head in agreement, “I agree. I don’t know what I’m going to wear though. I’ve outgrown my dress from the Yule ball and there’s no way I’ll be able to go shopping now with things as they are.”

“I was thinking of ordering mine by owl post,” Hermione told her, “Gladrags’s have a new catalogue out, that we should be able to find something in.”

Ron perked up, “Do you think I’d be able to order new dress robes?”

Rosalie laughed. 

“Why? Is there something wrong with your old ones?” She teased.

Ron glared at her, which only made her smile widen.

“Fleur is beside herself trying to get everything sorted though and Mrs Weasley isn’t making any of it easy. They’re fighting over every little detail. Fleur wanted blue for the flowers, Ron’s mum thought pink would look better—they compromised on purple,” Hermione explained.

“You should have heard the argument over the seating arrangements,” Ron groaned, “Mum only backed down when Fleur threatened to turn into one of those angry bird things.”

“Is she actually able to do that?” Rosalie asked, looking across at their resident genius.

“It’s possible I guess, since she is part Veela,” Hermione agreed, “I don’t know if she actually can though. It might depend on how much Veela blood you have.” 

“Anyway, what have you been up to?” Ron asked.

“Reading,” She offered half-heartedly, “Remus helped me redecorate the training room. It’s been pretty quiet.”

“Sounds loads better that what I’ve had to put up with,” Ron told her with an amused grin, “Even if you do have to spend every other day with Snape. I asked mum to talk to Dumbledore about that for you, but she said he knew what he was doing and it wasn’t our place to question it.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s okay. It’s really not so bad, Ron. Remus has actually been here a lot of the time and you know I hadn’t seen him in forever, so it’s nice to catch up.”

“Have you started your training yet?” Hermione asked.

“Yesterday officially, although Snape talked me through the basics of Legilimency the other night,” Rosalie confirmed.

“And what about your _other_ project? The one with Dumbledore?” Hermione asked pointedly, lowering her voice as she glanced over her shoulder at the door suspiciously though they were alone and it was shut.

“I spoke to Dumbledore today actually,” Rosalie confirmed, “We’ll be starting up again soon, he’s working on strengthening the wards around the school at the moment.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Ron asked.

“They were damaged last term when Malfoy let all those Death Eater’s in,” Rosalie explained, “Apparently they have to rebuild some of them. He mentioned something about adding new ones too.”

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another pointedly.

“And the castle? Is it secure?” Hermione asked.

Rosalie nodded, “Dumbledore said it was. Why?”

“It’s just that You-Know-Who hasn’t made it much of a secret that he wants Hogwarts, has he?” Hermione said unsurely.

Rosalie frowned, “You think he’ll try again?”

“Well now would be the best time, wouldn’t it?” Ron said, “Especially if Dumbledore is about to add a whole new layer of protection to prevent anything like last year happening again.”

Something dark and sharp seemed to zing through her and catch in her chest, “But why? What is it he wants?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed, “But aside from wanting to kill Dumbledore, there had to be another reason for their break in, right? Otherwise why send a whole team in?”

Rosalie shrugged, “Mass terror? What are a few casualties on the side if it ignites the fear in people’s hearts along the way? Hogwarts is the heart of the Light’s resistance, because it where Dumbledore resides and he is our leader. By breaking in and terrorizing the students that live there Voldemort is sending a message out to everyone that not even Dumbledore can protect them from the reaches of his Darkness.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up, “Wow. Did you come up with that yourself?”

Rosalie glanced away from them, “You pick up a few things about being a Dark Lord when you’ve had one living in your head for five years.”

Her friends fell silent, and she wondered for a moment if perhaps she’d said too much. She forgot sometimes that not everyone knew what it was like to be touched by darkness. Sometimes she felt as if there was a pit of it inside her growing steadily bigger with every atrocity she witnessed, pulsing ominously ready to overwhelm her completely the moment she slipped up. 

“I was thinking...” Hermione began, waiting until she had both of her friends attention before she continued, “Perhaps the reason You-Know-Who wants Hogwarts so badly, is because he’s hidden one of his horcruxes there?”

“You think?” Rosalie asked, and then, “Merlin, you don’t think he _knows_ were hunting them down, do you? Because if he does—”

“We’re screwed,” Ron finished for her.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said shaking her head, “Think about it. I’d be pretty worried if I’d hidden something like that somewhere my two greatest opponents inhabited on a daily basis. The threat of you or Dumbledore happening upon it could just be what’s driving him to try and claim Hogwarts so badly!”

“It does fit with what we’ve come up with so far, I imagine Hogwarts holds a great importance to him, so it’s possible,” Rosalie agreed.

“Yeah, okay, but what is it?” Ron pointed out, “It could be _anything_ and unless we have some way of pinpointing it it’d take _weeks_ , maybe longer, to search an area that large!”

“True,” Hermione agreed, “But we could start with the more obvious areas like the Chamber of Secrets, up until recently You-Know-Who thought he was the only parselmouth in existence so hiding it somewhere only a parselmouth can access makes sense.”

“Until Rose came along,” Ron added, “and suddenly it’s not secure anymore.”

“Exactly,” Hermione grinned.

Rosalie grinned back and forth between her friends, “This is what you’ve been researching?”

“Actually no,” Hermione replied, “We were trying to whittle down some of the possibilities of what each Horcrux could be—without much luck.”

“This is good though,” Ron pointed out, “we might actually be on to something here.”

“I’ll mention it to Dumbledore,” Rosalie agreed, “We won’t be able to do anything until the wards are finished and he mentioned wanting to make the trip out to Voldemort’s cave at some point, but after that...”

They each stared at each other, their hearts racing with adrenaline at the thought that they were onto something. It all made too much sense for it not to be right and if they were right that would mean they knew where four of the seven horcruxes were—if you included the cave which Dumbledore wanted to search—two of which were already destroyed. That left three. Rosalie felt her heart lighten, the heavy blanket of guilt and depression that had been weigh on her lifting as the future suddenly looked that much brighter. That much more possible! Four down and they would be over halfway to making Voldemort mortal enough to defeat.

Rosalie bit down hard on her lip as she fought back a grin.

“We can do this,” Ron laughed.

“We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Hermione cautioned, though she too was grinning like an idiot, “We still don’t know if we’re right or even what we’re looking for.”

Rosalie pressed her hands to her stomach and took a deep calming breath, “You’re right. Still, it’s the only good news I’ve had in days.”

Ron nodded his head in agreement, “It’s better than the nothing we had before.”

Hermione nodded, “Still...I just wish there was more documentation on what they actually were, how they are made and how best to destroy them, that sort of thing... It might help us narrow down the search a little.”

“I don’t think I want to know how they are made exactly,” Rosalie offered, “a vague notion is enough.”

Hermione nodded vaguely, “For instance I wonder if anything can be made into a horcrux, or whether the object has to meet certain criteria.”

Ron shrugged, “They seem pretty random so far. Diary, ring...”

“They are both personal items,” Rosalie pointed out.

“Two objects hardly constitute a pattern. Is it out of necessity that so far they have both been personal items? Or is it something just something You-Know-Who chose to do?” Hermione questioned.

“Because, you know, he’s sentimental like that,” Ron drawled sarcastically.

Hermione glared at him.

“Does it matter? We know he’s choosing objects which have meaning to him, so it’s a fair bet the rest of them will also fall under that category,” Rosalie argued.

“I know,” Hermione sighed, “I just like being thorough. I’d hate to dismiss something because it didn’t fit the criteria.”

Rosalie shook her head determinedly, “We won’t. We can’t”

*

Rosalie had never thought there would come a time when she’d choose Snape over Remus. Where she’d crave her dour Potion Master’s presence over that of someone she considered family, but after eight hours stuck inside a house alone with her godfather she was about ready to go insane. As kind-hearted and well meaning as he was, she couldn’t handle him anymore.

She didn’t understand what the problem was. Yes, she and Dudley had got into a bit of an altercation which she’d come out of the worse for wear, but similar situations had been common place in her life growing up. Yet Remus was dancing around her like he was walking on eggshells, cursing his name for having not ‘seen it coming’. 

How could he have? She hadn’t. Not really, anyway. Though she thought maybe Snape might have suspected something. 

She’d given up trying to reassure the wolf hours ago, though, and instead taken herself off to a quiet corner to read. 

Rosalie let out a tired sigh as she sank down into her favourite armchair tucked away in the back of the library. It was furthest away from the fireplace, but she appreciated the privacy the little nook provided her. It was out of the line of sight afforded from the doorway, and at times like this, she was grateful for it.

She ran her hands over the soft leather cover of the ‘ _The A-Z Healer’s Companion_ ’ that rested in her lap. She’s been carrying the book around with her for days, but something had interrupted her every time she’d had a chance to sit down and study it. It was an odd kind of book to have found in alongside the array of dark arts texts that filled the shelves of the library, and perhaps that was why it seemed to call to her, but she was genuinely interested in what it contained. 

Rosalie cracked the well worn spine carefully, nervous of any enchantments that may or may not have been added by the Black who had once owned this book. Nothing happened, however, and she began to breathe a little easier as she read what the first page had to say.

The title was printed carefully in the centre of the page in bland ink, with the author’s name spelt out in a neat line underneath. In the top corner of the book, though, a name was scrawled across the page in faded ink. It was hard to make out, but it looked like it read ‘Calliope Black’. The name was unfamiliar and not one she ever recalled Sirius mentioning, but that didn’t mean much as Sirius had hardly been forthcoming on the topic of his family. Rosalie thought, perhaps, that she was one of the many names that had been burned off of the family tree over the years. Healing hardly seemed like a profession that the Black family would have accepted, it was far too giving and selfless. 

Rosalie began to flick through the pages scanning the text, taking note of page after page of basic remedies, potions and spells to cure hundreds and hundreds of ailments. There were a scattering of handwritten notes scrawled in the margins of the book too, reminding her of the Half Blood Prince’s book. Even that small connection, however, made Rosalie feel like this woman—whoever she was—had been just as passionate about her work as the Prince had been.

Rosalie amused herself by reading through some of the more amusing sounding conditions—like Dragon Dung Breath, in which the sufferer’s breath odour reached near toxic levels of potency—but it wasn’t until she came across a basic wound healing spell, that she realised just how useful a book like this could be. It was a simple incantation— _Vieo Tergum_ —which was invoked while the caster waved their wand in a figure eight technique over the length of the wound repeatedly until the wound closed. 

Rosalie turned her head sideways and squinted at the loopy scrawl in the margins:

_‘It is important to note that in order to get the best possible results from this charm, slow even wand work is required. The knitting of flesh is a delicate job that requires an even steady hand lest the flesh come together unevenly and scar.’_

Rosalie wondered what the catch was. It seemed straightforward and simple enough, why then wasn’t it common place or taught in schools? It seemed stupid to think that basic healing charms were not part of the curriculum, even as an elective subject.

Knowing such a simple charm could mean the difference between life and death for someone in her position and to many of the other people fighting as part of the Light’s resistance. 

Flipping to the index she began to scan the book for other simple sounding spells and charms that might prove useful to know in the coming months—de-swelling charms, spells to clear away blood, basic heating and cooling charms, charms used on bandages to bind wounds neatly and efficiently, even spells to help people breathe! She poured over the book soaking in the knowledge that she hoped would never require personal use. 

She paused as her eyes ran over a chapter titled _‘Heart Healing’_.

Her heart did a little flutter as it scanned the words. What in Merlin’s name was Heart Healing?

Flipping her book open to the chapter, she was surprised to note that the chapter consisted of a single page of limited text and nothing more. Rosalie scanned the first few paragraphs, yet to her dismay it described nothing as to what Heart Healing actually was. It mentioned using one’s hand’s in the actual act of healing, but didn’t describe the process or the associated incantation.

Rosalie smiled as her next thought jumped almost instantly to Hermione and what the young witch might be able to tell her about it. Her friend was the best researcher she knew and if there was any information to find, Rosalie had no doubt that sooner or later Hermione would find it. But Hermione already had enough on her plate, by rights she should be elbow deep in research herself, but she saw little point in trying to research Voldemort’s horcruxes when they didn’t know what they were or what they were even likely to be. They were, thus far, all personal items and so she found it unlikely to think they were going to find the answers they needed in books.

Sighing Rosalie closed her book and let her gaze drift up out of the window. 

She needed to write to Dumbledore and arrange a time to meet with him so she could inform him of the conversation she’d had with Ron and Hermione regarding Hogwarts as a possible location in the hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. It seemed impossible to imagine they may have very well been sitting right on top of one for the past seven years, but at the same time it also seemed impossible to imagine a place holding a greater significance to Voldemort than Hogwarts.

“Rose?”

Rosalie fought the urge to sigh over her godfather’s downtrodden and guilty tone and instead turned to face him.

“Hi, Remus,” she called, waving him over to her corner from his place just inside the door.

“I just came to say goodbye,” Remus told her, “Snape just arrive. He’s down in the kitchen if you need him.”

“Okay.”

“I might be gone a couple of days, no more than four or so, try to stay out of trouble?” he asked with a small smile.

Rosalie grinned, “I’ll try. It’s just me and Snape now, what could possibly go wrong?”

Remus gave her a look.

“I’m just kidding,” She told him, “You worry too much, Remus. Go. Stay safe.”

Remus pulled her into a tight hug and pressed a kiss into her hair, “I love you, Rose. You’re my family—my pack—and all I have left.”

Rosalie squeezed him back, “I know. Same here.”

“I wish you’d told me something was up with you and Dudley,” He told her seriously, “I had no idea there was anything to even be concerned about.”

Rosalie did sigh this time, “There’s always been tension between Dudley and I, I didn’t think it was something worth mentioning. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll try not to make the same mistake again.” 

“Good,” he told her, “And I promise you that I’ll try to be more observant. Severus knew from the first, I think.”

“He had more information to work with, having spent so much time in my head and all,” She offered consolingly. 

Remus gave her a sad look, “I hate that he knows you better than I do.”

Rosalie didn’t know how to respond. After all, she was sure Snape _did_ know her better than Remus did, but to be fair he’d known her longer and seen her far more frequently in that time, which didn’t even begin to take into account the hours upon hours they’d spent together in her Occlumency sessions where Snape spent more time inside her head than out of it. How could Snape not know her better in comparison? 

“I should get going,” Remus said suddenly, saving her from having to answer, “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Bye,” she called after him as she watched him move towards the fireplace and take up the floo powder, before disappearing in a swirl of green flames.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Six**

Severus stumbled more than he stepped from the floo as the fireplace ignited in a wash of green flames around him. He was aching from head to toe, his limbs trembling and uncoordinated from the after effects of the Cruciatus curse and he was in desperate need of a drink. He never hated the Dark Lord more than he did in these moments, robbed of his pride, sometimes his voice and his very ability to move due to his perceived failure!

He stumbled clumsily around the kitchen table, cursing himself for allowing his precious custom made cure to slip through numb fingers as it had done earlier that evening. Normally, he didn’t wait for his condition to get this bad, but he’d been given little choice in the matter this time and his pride was hurting because of it.

“Severus! There you are! I was beginning to—”

Severus’ growl cut Lupin off at the knees. The wolf was the last person he wanted to see him in this state and he’d be damned before he let the man feel pity for him.

“What? Worry? How kind, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you care,” he bit out sarcastically, ignoring the way his voice grated and his throat burned from screaming himself raw under the Dark Lord’s wrath.

Lupin stared at him affronted at the abrupt dismissal of his concern, “Sorry to have offended you so, I’ll make sure not to go to the trouble in the future.”

“I’d be much obliged,” Severus retorted.

Severus’ gaze never wavered as they stared one another down, their animosity near palpable in the room even as Severus attempted to fight back the urge to simply pass out. Usually he and the wolf got along better than this in recent months, but tonight he didn’t have the patience or the tolerance to care. A few minutes of privacy to put himself back in order was all he wanted. Clearly, that was too much to ask for. 

“Rosalie is in the library,” Lupin began again after a moment.

Severus nodded.

“Not that I believe you care, but she’s been doing a lot better this last day or so. I think Dudley’s departure has helped,” the wolf admitted guiltily, “I’ll be back in a couple of days, Merlin willing, but Bill Weasley is in town and has agreed to take your place if you’re called.”

Severus sneered, “It won’t be an issue.”

Lupin nodded, “I’ll just say my goodbyes then.” 

Severus didn’t acknowledge Lupin again as the wolf left the room; instead he focused his energies on extracting his wand so he could summon the potions he needed to heal himself. His fine motor skills left a lot to be desired, but he finally managed on the third attempt and sighed gratefully as two little vials sailed in through the kitchen door. 

‘Not that Lupin believed he cared?’ Severus thought waspishly. ‘What in Merlin’s name was that supposed to mean? Idiotic, dim-witted fool! Of course he damn well _cared_! He wouldn’t have concerned himself with the issue in the first place otherwise!’

Severus’s hands shook as he tried to grasp the little bottles clumsily, snarling in frustration as his hands slipped and the glass vials clinked together noisily. He prided himself on his steady hands normally, his title as Potions Master would not be possible without them, but he knew with a horrifying kind of certainty that one day the nerve damage they all suffered under the Cruciatus would become permanent if things were allowed to continue as they were. Then what use would he be? Unable to brew, unable to cast, perhaps unable to even dress himself properly... It was not a life worth living in his book, and one he never intended to suffer through.

His thoughts were interrupted as cool, soft feminine hands reached out and took the vials from his struggling hands; she uncorked them easily before passing them back to him.

Severus glared at her, “Potter.”

That he hadn’t heard her enter the room shocked him, though he didn’t show allow himself to show it. He had not thought his condition so bad as to let his defences slip, yet here she was and he hadn’t heard her coming. If he had been anywhere else such a simple mistake could have lead to his death, a state of being he wasn’t eager to advance to.

“You’re welcome,” she returned blithely, moving across the room to the pot on the stove, setting it to boil manually with her back to him, allowing him the privacy he needed to down the potions as quickly as his uncoordinated fingers would allow.

Severus glared darkly at her back. What was it with Gryffindors and their inability to respect other peoples’ privacy? They were always sticking their noses in where they didn’t belong. Yet she made no further comment, instead placing a cup of tea in front of him—black, no sugar—before taking the seat opposite him.

“Is there something you wanted?” Severus asked when she made no move towards conversation.

She shook her head.

Haltingly he reached out for the cup of tea before him, only grasping the cup when he was sure his hands no longer trembled tellingly. He took a long swallow, eyeing her suspiciously over the rim of his cup.

“Why is it that we use calming potions to treat the effects of the Cruciatus? I thought the spell affected your nerves?” She asked after a moment.

Severus stared at her a long moment, trying to gauge her motive for asking such a question of him. Was she somehow subtly trying to mock him? Or was she genuinely curious? That she’d figured out the cause of his condition at all told him she’d had firsthand experience with the curse, which was reason enough to believe that it was genuine curiosity that had prompted her inquiry. No one who’d ever experienced the Cruciatus curse before would mock another’s suffering, aside from perhaps one or two of the Dark Lord’s more psychotic followers.

“The Cruciatus does affect ones nerves, but because nerves play a part in controlling our muscles, coordination is often affected during the initial post-curse periods. As the nerves then recover, so too does muscle control,” Severus explained evenly, “We use calming potions to help relax the muscles to allow our nerves time to repair themselves or to allow the healing potions, which are often ingested simultaneously, time to act more effectively.”

“So basically were forcing the body to relax so it will stop fighting itself long enough for us to repair the damage inflicted?”

She turned the statement into a question and Severus nodded in approval. He was aware that once upon a time, her quick grasp of the topic would have surprised him, but experience had long since come to teach him that Rosalie Potter wasn’t in fact stupid, just often distracted or unmotivated in her learning.

“I have designed my own potion which mimics the effect of both a calming potion and a basic healing potion—aimed specifically at the repair of nerve damage—to combat the effects of this curse,” Severus continued, “I have found, thus far, that it is the most effective counter measure. But the body, as I am sure you are aware, can only take so much. Eventually the potions we use will become ineffective in the case of prolonged or repetitive exposure.”

“You mean like the Longbottoms?” She asked.

Severus nodded, “The Longbottoms are indeed examples of the most likely outcome to occur from excessive exposure to the Cruciatus. It does, however, also present in the form of a persistent tremor or inability to function normally. Some people have become the sufferers of chronic unresolved pain in the past, though cases like these are rare as it takes time and repeated exposure over a prolonged period to build up to this.”

She looked at him knowingly, awareness shining brightly in her eyes as she somehow worked out exactly where he fit into it all though he been careful to keep his voice free of inflection.

“Just one more reason Voldemort needs to be stopped,” she said with a surprising lack of emotion given her recent turmoil over the notion last time they’d spoken. 

Severus was immediately suspicious of her outward calm. The wolf had said she’d been doing ‘better’, but no one got over something like than in a just a day or two—especially not someone like Potter who was so ruled by her emotions. She wore her heart on her sleeve in almost everything she did and as such, this abrupt turnaround seemed unlikely. Severus didn’t buy it for a minute.

“If we were to list all of the reasons in the world that Voldemort deserves to die, Potter, I imagine that his abuse of his followers would be the least motivating reason of the lot. Not to mention we’d likely be here all night,” Severus told her, pushing to his feet now that he felt his legs would once more support his weight.

“Sir?”

Severus arched an eyebrow back at her.

“In case I never get another opportunity, or I forget...or, I don’t know, _die_ before I get the chance—”

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Get to the point, Potter.”

He smirked to himself as he saw the muscles in her jaw clench in irritation at his interruption.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for everything you’ve done for me, especially when I haven’t seemed all that grateful for it,” She finished, her voice quiet and sincere, “and I’m sorry for being the brat that I’ve been to you over the years. You didn’t deserve it—not all of the time, anyway, sometimes you did.”

“You needn’t thank me for it,” He told her, “I was merely doing my job, and if it ever went beyond that it was in the pursuit of repaying a debt to a man long dead.”

Potter smiled fleetingly, “Thank you anyway.”

Severus nodded.

She slipped from the room then, as quietly as she’d arrived and Severus was left once more in his own company. 

Severus wondered briefly if it had all been a figment of his imagination, the night seemed so surreal, but there were still two empty tea cups sitting on the table, which attested to the fact that it hadn’t been. It had certainly been one of his stranger nights, that was certain. It seemed that these night time sessions with Potter were becoming routine. She seemed oddly open to conversing with him and he found it strange that she would choose _him_ as some sort of confidante. Though he’d filled that role a handful of times over the last year by chance, now she seemed to actively seek him out or at least knowingly choose to open up to him. Though really, who else did she have to turn to? While the Headmaster clearly favoured her more than the average student, he couldn’t actively show it lest he be accused of said favouritism among his students and time was a limiting factor for one as busy as Albus Dumbledore. She only saw the wolf a handful of times a year, as far as he was aware, and while Severus knew she was close with the Weasley’s, he also knew she’d be reluctant to burden them with her troubles when they had seven of their own children to manage as it was. Which left him, he assumed. The only other adult who she saw on a regular basis and someone who’d somehow ended up filling the role of mentor to her. What was more concerning was the fact that somewhere along the way _he’d_ started opening up to _her_ , and he had no idea when or how it had happened.

Severus scowled willing to bet—not for the first time—that Albus had planned this from the beginning and manoeuvred them all into place without anyone becoming the wiser. It was just the kind of cunning underhanded thing that man would do and Severus was willing to bet he’d had a good laugh over it more than once, eyes damnably twinkling as he celebrated his success. Yet even Severus had to admit that he and Potter had more in common that he was willing to admit. They had both been touched by the same darkness, and though it manifested itself in different ways, it was just one more link he could count between them. They had built something of a grudging respect for one another over the past year and while she could still infuriate him beyond belief, he no longer hated her—or her him—the way he once had. The truth was, Severus Snape had always respected power, and as time went by the more obvious it became that Rosalie Potter would wield a power to be reckoned with though she didn’t yet recognise this trait in herself. 

Severus sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. He desperately needed to sleep and such thoughts were never conducive to a good night’s rest—not that he even remember what a good night’s rest felt like anymore. Perhaps if there had been someone else staying in the house he might have doused himself with some Dreamless Sleep and be done with it. As it was, he was the only thing standing between Potter and the Dark Lord should someone manage to breach the house’s defences while they slept. 

Sighing, he dragged his tired body up the stairs to his bedroom and collapsed into an armchair he’d moved to sit by the window. Since sleep—proper sleep—was out of the question, he did the next best thing.

Making sure he had a quick Sober-up potion readily available and a Hangover Cure sitting beside his bed, he rechecked the wards on the house before summoning the bottle of scotch from his nightstand to his side. Kicking off his shoes, he sunk down into the chair until he could comfortably lift his legs to rest on the lowset windowsill of his bedroom window. The Dark Lord, Cruciatus and Potter all in one day was more than enough justification in his opinion to het himself royally pissed.

*

It was still early as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, the sun little more than a faint glow on the horizon. As was now usual, she’d managed little more than a handful of hours sleep in total during the night, but her body seemed to be acclimatising itself to this perpetual state of fatigue. She felt strangely bright-eyed and alert that morning, and for once free of injury and guilt.

Rosalie ground to a halt as she breeched the kitchen doorway, surprised to find Snape already sitting at the kitchen table, a pot of tea on the table before him and the Daily Prophet sitting open across his crossed knee. It had just barely gone five am and she found herself wondering if the Potions Master had ever gone to bed. 

“Good morning,” she greeted, finding her feet once more.

“Potter,” Snape greeted, looking up from his paper, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Rosalie laughed, “I could ask you the same.”

Snape didn’t respond, instead he pulled out his wand and summoned a second tea cup over to table for her. Rosalie sat down across from him accepting the cup of tea he passed her. They sat together in silence, Rosalie lost in her own thoughts while Snape continued to brows the morning paper, but the silence, surprisingly, wasn’t uncomfortable and Rosalie found herself relaxing back into her chair as she sipped lazily at her tea. 

“I was going to make breakfast; can I get you anything, sir?”

Snape arched a sceptical eyebrow at her, “Not if your cooking skills are as appalling as your potion brewing ones, thank you.”

Rosalie grinned, “They’re not nearly so horrendous, I swear.”

Snape didn’t look convinced.

Not all that long ago she’d never have let a comment like that pass and she was only now realising how far the two of them had come. She knew now Snape wasn’t insulting her or taking a prod to get her riled up. Snape’s sense of humour was subtle and it had taken her a long time to recognise, let alone understand or appreciate that humour. It was dry and sarcastic, but he could be surprisingly funny at times and life had become that much easier now that she wasn’t always jumping down his throat at the slightest provocation. Snape could still be a mean git, but she’d come to realise that a lot of it was just sarcasm.

“Here, I’ll make you some and you can try it and form your own opinion,” she told him, and turned her attention to preparing breakfast.

Snape couldn’t help but watch with some amazement as she skilfully moved her way around the kitchen. In short order she had a couple of bagels toasting under the grill as she began to mix up what looked like a cream cheese mix with red onions. 

“Do you eat smoked salmon?”

Snape arched a question eyebrow at her, “I do, but I was unaware you did...”

Rosalie smiled at him. 

“The Dursley’s used to like it when I made them what I liked to call their ‘snobbish foods’,” she told him, making little air quotations as she put a little emphasis on the last two words, “It made them feel important and more special than they really were, I think, especially when they had guests over for lunch or dinner.”

Snape snorted, “I can imagine.”

She placed a plate on the table in front of him and Snape could help the shocked look of appreciation off of his face. It looked fantastic. The bagel was lightly toasted and the cream cheese smeared on top of it with the smoked salmon and red onion slices layered on top.

Rosalie chuckled, “You haven’t tasted it yet...”

“You enjoy cooking?” He said, his tone making the question sound more like a statement than it really was as he picked up his breakfast awkwardly and took a bite.

She nodded, tucking into her own.

“Impressive,” he told her honestly.

“Thanks,” she replied happily, “so what’s on the agenda for today?”

“You are well passed due to commence proper instruction in Legilimency,” Snape replied to no great surprise, “Time has not permitted us the luxury of commencing sooner unfortunately, so we will have to work hard to try and make up for lost time. I cannot afford to spend all day on the task, however. Some of my time must be dedicated to the potions research I am conducting for the Dark Lord. He has given me this time with the belief that I am using it accordingly and it is essential that I show him the appropriate results.”

Rosalie nodded, she didn’t have to imagine what Voldemort’s anger would be like if Snape failed. She’d witnessed Voldemort punishing his followers all too many times to know that failing wasn’t an option. 

She couldn’t help but wonder what is was Voldemort had Snape researching, though she was probably better off not knowing. 

Rosalie dropped her gaze to her breakfast.

“That was surprisingly enjoyable,” Snape told her once the last of his breakfast had passed his lips.

“Thanks,” she replied modestly.

“It is still early if you wish to take some time for yourself? I thought we might commence your training otherwise.”

Rosalie shrugged, “There is nothing I need to do—I showered and dressed before I came down.”

Snape nodded, “Very well, let us make our way down to your training room then.”

Rosalie was proud of the effort she and Remus had put in to remodelling the room. Gone were the gothic furnishings and clutter that had once littered the room and instead the room now stood relatively empty. Aside from her couch—a suede midnight blue replica of her favourite couch in the Gryffindor common room that Remus had transfigured under her careful instructions—a small cupboard which was currently empty and a writing desk and chair which they’d pushed up against one wall the room was bare. The carpet had been transfigured into beautiful hardwood floors and the walls, after a couple of different attempts, had eventually ended up a neutral cream. Still, it was less depressing to look at and considering the amount of time she was spending there each day, less depressing could only be a good thing.

Snape gave the room a cursory glance as they entered noting the overhaul the decor had undergone with little more than passing interest before he turned his attention back to her.

“There are two known and accepted methods of creating the mental connection required to perform Legilimency. The first and most common method requires strict eye contact and audible incantation to force the link. This is the easier of the two methods and therefore more commonly practiced but it has noticeable draw backs. Some people are practiced enough in this method to be able to cast the incantation wordlessly, but it take considerable amounts of time and practice to achieve this,” Snape began, his tone suggesting he was in full lecture mode and Rosalie had to scramble to pay attention and absorb everything he was saying.

“The second method teaches the individual to expand their own mind outwards in search of the other persons mind in order to then create a temporary link between the two. This method—when mastered—can be achieved without the need for direct eye contact as a focus and is considered the superior of the two methods.”

“So I’ll be learning the second method,” She surmised. 

Snape nodded, “Correct. Though time permitting, we will cover the first method as well, as both have a time and a place.”

Rosalie breathed out a steadying breath. She really didn’t want to suck at this.

“Sit,” Snape ordered, not unkindly as he gesture to the floor in front of him.

Rosalie obeyed sinking down to sit cross-leg before him, surprised when Snape followed suit. This was different.

“I’ve taught you how to clear your mind in our Occlumency lessons. Now I want you to use that technique to meditate focusing on relaxing your mind and expanding your senses,” He told her, “Meditation is a necessary part of learning to control and direct the energy of the mind which is what you’ll need to do in order for this to work.”

Rosalie nodded her understanding.

“I want you to close your eyes. Once you’ve cleared you mind, focus you concentration on your minds energy. The goal is to learn the feel of it and the way it works so that you may then direct it outwards to ‘map out’ the area around you. If you are able to that you should be able to locate a shift in energy as you encounter my presence,” he lectured in smooth even tones. 

Rosalie worried her lower lip, “Should I be able to do this first go?”

“We’ll soon see,” Snape replied evenly.

Rosalie sighed and shut her eye, trying to position herself like she’d once seen pictures of monks doing. Then once she was satisfied she began the process of clearing her mind as she did every night. Immediately she felt her body relax as a sense of calm washed over her. She concentrated on her keeping her breathing slow and deep and once she felt she was ready she began to draw her focus inward.

It was harder than she’d anticipated identifying the ‘energy of her mind’. She’d been expecting to find a pool or reservoir of energy that ‘hummed’ or ‘buzzed’ inside her or something else likewise energy-like. When she found nothing to that effect Rosalie became disheartened and dropped her focus. She opened her eyes slowly expecting to find Snape glaring at her, but instead he was sitting across her in a similar cross-legged fashion with his eyes closed and his face relaxed. 

Rosalie felt shock ripple through her. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d seen the Potions Master so relaxed and unguarded. The tense lines around his mouth and eyes had softened and his brow was smooth and unfurrowed. The difference it made to his appearance was...phenomenal. He looked younger and happier than she’d ever seen him. Cautiously, Rosalie allowed her gaze to track over him. At some point he’d uncharacteristically drawn his hair back from his face with a loose tie and removed his heavy teaching robes so that he sat before her in nothing but his slacks, black shirt and waistcoat. The sleeves of his shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to exposed pale, lean forearms which were surprisingly toned, though he’d been careful to keep his Dark Mark hidden from sight. He looked like a completely different person, yet somehow still essentially Snape. It was a bizarre feeling. She felt like she was seeing him, but at the same time not. This person before her seemed so far removed from ‘Professor Snape’ that she wondered if maybe she was seeing ‘Severus’. Logically she knew they were one and the same, but somehow this made him seem more human to her. 

“You’re not even trying to concentrate,” he stated plainly, without opening his eyes. 

“Sorry,” She muttered and slammed her roving eyes shut again.

She forced herself to go through the process of clearing her mind once more and pushed the image of Snape from her thoughts.

‘Mental energy’ she chided herself sternly.

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was supposed to identify, but she resolutely kept her eyes closed and her focus centred inwards. After a few moments, she began felt herself falling into the rhythm of her mind—a gentle repetitive rolling sensation of motion, continuous and swirling. It was only as she allowed herself to be completely engulfed in the flow that she realised that this was what she’d been searching for. She was submerged in the energy of her mind as it whisked her around in a whirlpool of movement. She let it guide her around, until the motion started to become familiar and only then did she try and force that energy outwards, expanding the circle of the whirlpool outside the edges of her psyche. A feeling of weightlessness washed over her as she pushed at the limits of her energy, and suddenly it felt thin and shaky, more delicate that a spider web stretched too far. Snape’s mind was easy to locate though it was still some distance from her conscious thought. It was smooth and round, and stood out like a pillar of stability in the midst of the fragile web of her overstretched psyche.

“Rose?”

Rosalie’s concentration shattered around her as Ron’s voice pierced through her concentration like a knife. She’d registered the presence of another mind a split second before he’d spoken, but it had made little difference to her ability to focus.

There was a light sheen of perspiration forming on her forehead, and Rosalie rubbed at it self-consciously with the back of her hand as she turned to her friend.

“Ron?”

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Rosalie frowned in confusion.

“Yes,” She answered slowly, “Why? Has something happened? Is the Burrow okay?”

Snape was glancing back and forth between the two teens appraisingly.

“No, everything is fine—what were you doing?” Ron replied, shooting Snape a mistrustful look.

“Meditating,” She answered plainly, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

Ron blushed, “I’m fine. You were both so still and quiet, I thought—never mind. It just looked strange, I guess.”

Snape could guess what he’d really thought, it was more than obvious Ron thought Snape was secretly out to get Potter somehow. He’d find it amusing if it weren’t quite so annoying.

“Right,” Rosalie replied before turning her attention back to Snape.

“You did reasonably well,” Snape told her to Ron’s unending amazement and suspicion, “I want you to practice that twice a day until you can find and control that energy without pause.”

Rosalie nodded.

Snape glanced at Ron before looking back at her, “I’ll be in my lab.”

Rosalie watched him rise gracefully to his feet and sweep from the room past Ron with his robes over one arm as the redhead scowled at him.

“He still manages to look like a bat even without the robes on,” Ron shuddered.

Rosalie ignored the comment thinking it was odd how Ron still only saw Professor Snape even when the man looked so different and wondered if it was just because Ron was biased against him or because _her_ opinion had changed.

The redhead walked into the room and plonked himself down beside her.

“‘Mione gave me these to give to you,” Ron said as he held out a Gladrags catalogue. 

“Thanks,” she offered gratefully as she took the magazine from him.

“‘Mione’s already picked out her dress of the wedding,” He told her, “It’s pink, I think, and mum said she’d put some money towards the dress robes on the front cover for me—I’m paying for the rest of it with some money I’ve saved up.”

Rosalie nodded appreciatively as the simple black dress robes displayed, “Good choice.”

Ron grinned.

Rosalie flicked absently through a couple of pages of the magazine to get a feel for what they had.

“Do you know what colour you’ll wear?” He asked her.

“Not yet, I’ll have to have a proper look later,” Rosalie told him as she closed the magazine with a sigh.

“You hungry?” Ron asked, “I’m starved, and it’s almost lunchtime.”

“Really?” She asked in surprise.

Ron nodded, “It’s about noon by now, I’d say.”

Rosalie was amazed at how much time had slipped by unnoticed while they’d been meditating—half the day was gone in what had felt like a blink of an eye. It was disorientating.

“What’s there to eat in this place?” Ron asked as he hauled himself to his feet.

Rosalie followed suit, unfolding her legs to climb to her feet.

“I can make something if you like?”

“Brilliant,” Ron agreed and followed her down the hall and down the stairs into the kitchen.

“You wouldn’t believe what our backyard looks like at the moment! Mum and Fleur have gone kinda nuts over everything. It’s why I offered to drop by to bring you the magazines—not that I didn’t want to see you, or anything,” Ron told her as he flopped down into one of the kitchen seats heavily as he watched her start to make her way around the kitchen.

“Why? What have they done?” she asked.

Ron rolled his eyes, “What _haven’t_ they done? I mean, it looks nice, I guess—Hermione said it looks like an ‘enchanted woodland palace’, whatever that means.”

Rosalie smiled, “It sounds beautiful.”

Ron shrugged, “You’ll see it in a couple of days, I guess. Mum’s hand both Sprout and Flitwick by to help out though. Just be grateful you have a valid excuse not to be there.”

Rosalie smiled and placed a bowl down in front of her friend.

“Salad?” Ron asked dubiously as he stared down at his lunch.

“Just try it,” She told him, “It’s a warm chicken salad with homemade ranch dressing. You’ll like it.”

Ron looked sceptical but picked up his fork regardless.

“You’re not eating?” he asked when she didn’t sit down.

“I am,” Rosalie told him, “I just want to take a bowl into Snape.”

Ron’s gaze darkened, “Can’t the great git get his own meal? He’d better not have you waiting on him hand and foot or I’ll—”

“Ron! It’s fine,” She interrupted, “I made him lunch of my own accord. You know I wouldn’t let him do that to me. Just give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

Rosalie didn’t wait for him to reply as she walked across the kitchen to the lab door. She knocked and waited.

“Come in.”

Rosalie poked her head in around the door, “I brought you some lunch.”

Snape glanced up at her.

“Just leave it on the table,” He replied indicating to a table just off to her left that was piled high with books.

Rosalie made her way over to the table and cleared a spot for the bowl to squeeze on to the corner.

“Thank you,” Snape told her evenly as she turned to leave.

“You’re welcome,” She replied as and shut the door behind her.

“This is actually really good,” Ron commented as she emerged from the lab, “is there any more?”

“Heaps,” she told him, picking up her serving and the large bowl she’d prepared it in as she made her way over to the table.

“Thanks,” Ron replied absently as he took the larger bowl from her arms and proceeded to shovel more food onto his plate and then into his mouth in typical Ron Weasley fashion.

“I can’t believe how close the wedding is,” Rosalie commented as she too started to eat.

“And you’re birthday,” Ron told her, “You’ll finally be seventeen—a legal adult like the rest of us.”

Rosalie shrugged, “it will make things easier when I can use magic without worrying about the trace.”

“We’re all coming to celebrate. Mum’s even backing you a cake and everything!” Ron exclaimed happily.

“She didn’t have to,” Rosalie told him seriously, “I’m sure she has enough to worry about with the wedding being so close.”

“Its fine,” Ron assured her, “We all pitch in. Not always by choice, but the job gets done.”

“I just don’t want to put anyone out,” She told him.

“You’re not,” He replied, “Besides, if we’re all here the night before then you won’t find yourself suddenly short of an escort to the wedding, apparently we’re all staying over that night. Who’s taking you anyway? Snape or Moony?”

Rosalie shrugged. 

She’d always assumed it’d be Remus, but he wasn’t due back until the night of her birthday and it was possible he might not make it back in time which would leave Snape as her escort for the night. Not that it really made much difference; all the members of the Order were attending the wedding. Though they didn’t know for sure that there would be trouble, it seemed stupid not to plan for it.

“Depends on who is available,” she replied honestly.

Ron snorted but made no comment. She was glad.

“Do you have any idea what I should buy Bill and Fleur as a wedding gift?” She asked him as he made to serve himself a third and final helping of what was left of the salad she’d made.

Ron shrugged, “Hermione is buying them a photo album for their wedding photos. I don’t know what mum’s planned.”

Rosalie nodded, “I’m not sure what I’ll be able to organise.”

“It doesn’t matter, Rose,” Ron told her, “They’ll understand the circumstances. We’re just all glad you can come.”

Rosalie nodded half heartedly, “Yeah, I guess. I just feel like—”

“ _Ronald Weasley!_ ”

Ron jumped about a foot into the air as the fireplace suddenly flared green and his mother’s voice began to screech out at him.

“Merlin’s balls!” Ron exclaimed breathlessly.

“Watch your language, young man!” Mrs Weasley scolded her youngest son, “You told me you would be back half an hour ago to help with these preparations and I’m _still_ waiting—Oh! Hello, Rose dear!”

“Hi, Mrs Weasley!” Rosalie smiled. 

“Mum!” Ron complained.

“Don’t you ‘mum’ me. There is a mountain of work to be done and I’m counting on you to help out! Now get yourself home quick smart!”

Ron sighed, “That’s my cue to leave.”

Rosalie laughed, “I’ll see you both in a couple of days.”

Ron nodded, “You sure you’re alright trapped here with just Snape?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes, I’m sure. Now go.”

“Right,” Ron replied unconvinced, “Well...see you, I guess.”

Rosalie watched with amused exasperation as he disappeared into the floo after his mother. It didn’t matter what she told him, Ron would never believe her where Snape was concerned until he believed that Snape had changed—or at least changed in his attitude towards her, at any rate—which wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. She could live with that though, just as soon as Ron let up with his constant suspicion and misgivings. She was getting tired of always convincing him she was alright where Snape was concerned.

Flipping open the Gladrags catalogue Ron had left, Rosalie began to flip through the pages noting the conservative pale pink dress Hermione had marked for herself and a flaming red number Ginny had noted—though Rosalie thought it was unlikely to pass Mrs Weasley’s approval.

Nothing really seemed to grab her attention though, except perhaps a strapless black dress that was made out of a shimmery material she thought was probably satin or silk. Black didn’t really seem appropriate thought, especially not for a wedding in the midst of a war.   
Flipping to the back of the magazine she instead began to scan the selection of shoes they offered. Almost immediately her eyes lit upon a beautiful pair of heels—a little higher than she’d worn before—that were a simple black, stylish looking pair of platform pumps. She fell in love with them on sight and only after devouring those with her eyes noted the flowing emerald green strapless silk dress the model wore. It was perfect. It was simple yet elegant and would bring out the colour of her eyes. With a grin Rosalie tore out one of the order forms from the centrefold of the magazine and filled out the item numbers and her sizes for both the dress and the shoes.

With a happy smile she placed the form inside an envelope with the account number of her Gringott’s vault that the purchases were to be charged to and went in search of Snape again.

She knocked on the lab door for the second time that day.

“Come in.”

“Hi!” She called as she stepped into the room.

Snape arched an eyebrow at her in question.

“I need to send off an order for my dress from the wedding,” She told him, holding up the envelope so he could see it, “I’d use Hedwig, but she’d be too recognisable.”

“Do you not own a house elf?” Snape pointed out.

“Kreacher?” She asked in surprise.

Severus frowned, “No, well perhaps not that odious beast, but the other one who is so loyal to you.”

“Dobby?” She asked, even more surprised, “I didn’t even know you knew about him.”

“I’d imagine at this point, Potter, there is very little I don’t know about you,” Snape replied blandly before turning back to his work.

Rosalie swallowed heavily and for some strange reason had to fight back the urge to blush at those words. 

She failed.

“Right,” She agreed, “Okay, thanks.”

Rosalie turned tail and very nearly bolted from the room with her cheeks on fire wondering what in Merlin’s name was wrong with her.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Seven**

Rosalie startled awake so violently that she suddenly found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, arms twisting in her bed sheets desperately and a frantic gasp on her lips. She was shaking badly; sweat sticking her hair to the side of her face as she fought to bring her heavy breathing back under control. It had only been a dream, she reminded herself, as her heart beat thundered away in her chest, but her mind made it feel so real. It was happening every night without fail; nightmares. She should be used to them, desensitized to what she saw, but somehow she just couldn’t escape them or what they did to her.

Rosalie shivered despite the warmth of the night and threw back the covers of her bed, sliding from within the comforts without a second thought. The air in her room felt stagnant and thick, like it was trying to suffocate her. Images from her nightmare were still freshly imprinted on her mind’s eye. She could still feel the chill of the night air on her skin, the race of terror in her heart that she’d felt back in that graveyard with Voldemort, tied once more to the headstone of his father’s grave. Cedric’s cold lifeless eyes, foggy with death had stared up at her from her feet accusingly as Voldemort and Wormtail had taken turns taunting her and swiping at her with ceremonial knives.

Rosalie rubbed at her arm absently in remembrance as she slipped from her room and down the stairs. The worn, thin carpet disappeared under her feet rapidly though her thoughts were otherwise occupied and a muted sense of urgency still clung to her stubbornly. It hadn’t taken long for her tormentors to morph into the visage of the man that she’d killed in her bedroom. Taunts had turned into threats of rape, the sting of knives had turned into the heavy touch of unwanted hands and she’d jolted herself awake just as his hot, wet tongue had rasped up the side of her face once more. Rosalie rubbed at her chest through her thin nightshirt as her mind recalled the feel of his blood dribbling onto her chest as he’d died atop of her, his eyes frantic and bulging—wide with disbelief. 

The memory hit her with such horrifying clarity that her footing stumbled on the steps and almost sent her tumbling down the stairs before she could regain her balance. Her hands shot out and gripped at the banister to steady herself before she pushed herself onwards.

She could still smell the putrid stink of his breath on her face, hear the rasp of his zipper as his meaty hands pawed at her—

Rosalie drew up short in the doorway of the library, her heart still hammering out a frantic beat in her chest.

What was she doing?

Rosalie physically shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.

The warm flickering glow of the fire was the only light in the room, casting the library in a soft comforting haze. Snape was sitting in one of the high backed chairs by the fire, his feet propped up on a footstool, a book open on his lap and tumbler full of scotch dangling loosely from his fingers as he absently flipped through the pages of his book. He looked comfortable and relaxed, despite the late hour. His shoes had been kicked off and were sitting on the floor beside him, his sock-covered feet crossed at the ankle. His outer robes discarded once more in favour of his shirt, waistcoat and slacks and though she thought it far too warm to be sitting by fire as he was, he appeared completely comfortable and at ease.

‘What am I doing?’ Rosalie thought again as she hastily backed out of the doorway and pressed her back up against the adjoining wall, even as she acknowledged something inside her had begun to relax and uncoil at the sight of him.

Had she really just run to Snape because she’d had a nightmare? For _comfort_?

“Potter?”

Rosalie tensed, her eyes going wide and without letting herself think about what she was doing she turned and dashed down the hall, away from him and the sound of his voice. She pulled open the first door she came across, ducking into her training room and shutting the door quietly behind her. She pressed her lips together tightly, letting her head fall forwards to rest against the smooth cool wood of the closed door. Her breath was tremulous and thin as she fought to bring herself back under control. Rosalie felt her knees buckle as she turned and sank down the door slowly until she was sitting on the floor, her knees bent up in front of her and her back pressed firmly up against the wood behind her.

She’d shocked herself, by running to find Snape. Which is what she’d done, hadn’t she? What had she imagined Snape would have been able—or willing—to do? If Remus were here, he would have wrapped her up in his big arms and stroked her hair as she clung to him desperately, much like he had after he’d first arrived back at Grimmauld Place a few weeks ago when she’d still been so emotional. He would have told her everything was alright and she would have looked to him for that gentle and calm reassurance. It was what she’d come to expect of him as their relationship evolved. She saw him as a kind of parental figure—a father figure—which wasn’t so unreasonable given he was the closest thing she had left to family.

But Snape?

She looked to Snape for advice and guidance. She trusted him implicitly, perhaps more than she trusted anyone in this war and was beginning to rely on him in ways she didn’t even completely understand. Yet in no way, shape or form did she think of Snape as a father-figure, though he was the same age as Remus and her parents would have been and therefore old enough to be so. But, unlike her relationship with Remus, she felt more like Snape’s equal on some bizarre level—perhaps not magically or intellectually—but maybe emotionally? In truth she didn’t know what label to put on Snape’s role in her life, mentor? Friend? They both seemed inadequate in some fashion. Regardless, she didn’t know what had drawn her to seek him out, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him. 

Pushing herself back to her feet, she made her way over to the couch she’d insisted Remus transfigure for her and let the cushions practically swallow her whole. She curled up on her side, drawing her knees back up to her chest, confusion and the last vestiges of fear still clinging to her heart stubbornly leaving her feeling oddly numb. She lay there in the dark, listening as the soft muted sounds of summer rain began to fall outside, all the while staring sightlessly out across the room as slowly, reluctantly she began to relax and let go, bit by bit, of her choking fear.

*

Severus frowned as he looked up from his book towards the entrance of the library as Potter ducked back out of the room.

“Potter?”

The furrows on his brow deepened when there was no response. 

Severus closed his book and set it aside as he heard the sounds of the floorboards in the hall creaking as she made her way down the hall and the soft thud of a door closing. 

Severus hesitated. What in Merlin’s name was she doing?

He glanced at the clock sitting on the mantle above the fireplace, it was past two in the morning, but he hadn’t seen her since dinner that night. Setting his glass aside he pushed to feet back into his shoes before standing, withdrawing his wand—as precaution only—he exited the library and made his way out into the darkness of the house. There were only two ways she could have gone, but his eyes were inevitably drawn to the training room door. Severus made his way down the hall slowly, careful to remain as silent as possible—a task made far simpler from years of experience as a spy in the Dark Lords inner circle. His instincts were telling him noting was truly amiss, yet her behaviour had seemed out of character. 

He listened at the training room door. Nothing. Reaching out he turned the handle slowly and allowed the door to squeak open.

She sat up as he entered the room, and looked back at him in shock. She’d been curled up on the couch in a foetal position, staring listlessly out across the room. His concern deepened.

“Potter,” he greeted, suddenly not sure what it was he’d intended to do once he found her. She looked tired and strained and the darkness of the room only served to emphasize the dark circles around her eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she told him quickly, swinging her legs to the floor and tugging the nightshirt she wore down her legs some. 

“Why are you not in bed?” he asked.

She looked away from him as she began to worry her lower lip, the faint lines of strain around her mouth and eyes deepening as her brow furrowed. 

“I was,” she replied.

Severus arched a questioning eyebrow at her. 

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, “just nightmares.”

Severus continued to stare at her a long moment until she began to shift uncomfortably.

“Do you require a potion to help you sleep?” He asked finally.

Potter shook her head, “No, sir. I’m fine. Thank you.”

She let her head drop forward, her long dark hair swinging forward in a gentle sweep to obscure her face from view. It was a move that was familiar to him and one he’d often employed in his youth. He too understood the pain of nightmares, the fatigue they caused and the emotional stress they could wreak. A few hours of broken sleep each night wasn’t enough to exist on, yet he managed and it appeared Potter was learning to manage as well. He wondered briefly how long this had been going on?

“As you wish,” He replied finally, knowing there was nothing else he could offer her. Not when he too still laboured under the same affliction and yet to find a permanent solution.

Potter glanced up at him again, “I _am_ sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you earlier.”

Severus waved a careless hand, “It is of little consequence.”

Potter nodded, but didn’t reply. The silence that fell between them wasn’t entirely comfortable. Severus half regretted following her in. It seemed ridiculous for him to just leave and have them both left awake, enclosed off in separate corners of the house unable—or unwilling—to go to sleep but ignoring each other’s presence. Yet, Severus was unwilling to admit that so much had changed between them that he no longer simply tolerated her presence—that he might be willing to reach out to ...comfort her? He grimaced, maybe not, but protect her, certainly. In the past he’d have turned and walked out the door, leaving her to her demons without a backwards glance. But he’d hesitated, he realised, without fully meaning to, reluctant to simply leave her when whatever had awoken her had been distressing enough to have her fleeing from her bed in the middle of the night.

Severus cleared his throat.

“There are... _people_ ,” Severus began reluctantly, feeling like a hypocrite for even suggesting it, “that you can talk to. Certain, _Mind Healers_ , I’ve been told, that specialise in this kind of area.”

Potter frowned up at him, “No one I’d trust.”

Severus tilted his head in acknowledgement, not truly blaming her for shooting him down. He’d be damned a million times over before he found himself willingly sitting before a shrink. A _‘Mind Healer’_. He wasn’t broken. His _mind_ wasn’t broken and he wasn’t about to let someone have a play at ‘fixing it’.

“Sometimes,” Potter said quietly, gaze fixed the rain as it trickled down the windowpane, “it feels like I might never sleep again.”

Severus stared at her thoughtfully.

‘I know,’ he thought to himself.

Potter laughed, more than a little self depreciatively and flicked her emerald green eyes to meet his gaze. 

“Sorry,” she mutter again, her tone rueful, “I should get back to bed and leave you to your book. I should at least try for a couple of hours, I guess.”

Severus watched as she pushed herself gracefully to her feet and started towards him and the doorway that he still blocked.

“Here,” Severus told her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a vial of Dreamless Sleep, “No more than a quarter a night, once a week. Use it sparingly.”

She started to shake her head in denial, but Severus stopped her, taking her outstretched palm and placing the potion into her hand.

Severus frowned, “Stop trying to be a martyr.”

“I’m not!” She bit back angrily, “But I don’t want to start relying on a potion to be able to sleep at night. I don’t want to get addicted.”

“You won’t,” he assured her, “I won’t allow it.”

Potter huffed and closed her eyes in exasperation.

“I’m not advising that you to use it all the time,” Severus reiterated, “and if you are stupid enough to attempt to do so, tell me now and I’ll have the potion back. It is meant only to offer you an option not previously available to you —a last resort, if you become desperate enough with the need to sleep. It’s not a solution to your problem.”

Potter stared at him, her gaze searching as she scanned his face before finally relaxing and accepting the vial he’d thrust into her hand.

“I’m not using it tonight,” She told him bluntly.

“That is your choice,” he agreed tersely, unconcerned one way or another.

She stood in silence for a long moment, glaring down at the small bottle in her hands.

“Okay,” she agreed, “Goodnight, sir.”

Severus watched her leave, his easy relaxed mood gone and his shoulders tense once more. He waited until she’d long since made it back up the stairs to her room before he turned and stalked back down the hall to the library. Ignoring his book he folded himself back into his chair and picked up his scotch, picking up the bottle and sloshing a healthy portion of it into his glass. He didn’t understand why that girl had to be so unbearably difficult all the time. Severus knocked the drink back and sighed, staring unseeingly into the flames crackling away in the fireplace beside him. Not for the first time, Severus allowed himself to ponder how infinitely easier things could have been if only Rosalie Potter had been born a _boy_.

With that thought, a reluctant smirk broke out across his face.

“If only...”

*

Rosalie spent the morning before her birthday being soundly thrashed in the name of learning defence. She’d almost groaned when she’d walked into the kitchen that morning to find Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for her, ready to start her morning training while Snape was busy with his potions. He was always pleasant and cheerful to her, but he pushed her harder than she’d ever been pushed in her life. He seemed to teach with the philosophy that desperation drove mastery. Once she had the basics of the skill, he’d push her with no reprieve until she was forced to master the art or get hurt failing. He always healed any damage he caused, but their sessions together left her both mentally and physically drained, her body aching, tired and sporting more than one blossoming bruise.

Shacklebolt left at lunch with a pleased pat to her shoulder and Rosalie allowed herself to slump down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, her head falling forward to thump against the hard wood of the kitchen table. She didn’t know why they bothered; not really. If it were ever to happen, she’d never win in a duel against Voldemort anyway and if that’s what Dumbledore was banking on to win this war then they were all screwed. Her real role in the war was helping Dumbledore find and destroy all of Voldemort’s horcruxes and making Voldemort mortal enough to be killed—and at that point, anyone could do it, she imagined. Or at least that was her understanding.

Rosalie sighed, she hadn’t heard back from Dumbledore since she’d had Remus deliver a letter to him about their suspicion that one of Voldemort’s horcruxes was hidden at Hogwarts. She wondered if he’d already searched and dismissed Hogwarts as a possibility, though Rosalie knew there was one place—at least—that she knew Dumbledore couldn’t access. She’d hinted as much in her letter, but as she’d yet to hear back she had no way of knowing his thoughts on the matter.

Rosalie glanced across at Snape’s lab door as she wondered about whether or not Dumbledore had confided in the Potions Master. Did Snape know about the horcruxes and their hunt for them? She didn’t think so. Otherwise wouldn’t it have made more sense for Dumbledore to be taking Snape on these expeditions with him instead of her? Not that they’d been anywhere yet, she reminded herself, but Snape’s name had never been mentioned in the planning.

Getting up Rosalie walked over to the door and knocked hesitantly.

Snape voice was muffled and distracted when it returned, “Come in!”

The door opened easily beneath her hands as she slipped into the room, glancing around as she entered. The table to off to the left was still piled high with books, but the contents of the room seemed to have double overnight. She was amazed by the sheer quantity of things the man had managed to squeeze into such a small space and vaguely wondered when on earth he’d managed to set it all up without her realising. Bottles and bottles and bottles of ingredients lined the shelves of each wall neatly and a stone bench complete with fire pit for a cauldron sat in the centre of the room looking for all the world like it had been designed for exactly that purpose. 

“When did you have time to do all this?” Rosalie asked incredulously.

“House elves,” Snape replied distractedly, “The Headmaster arranged for Hogwarts elves to help transport much of my personal stock over from Hogwarts.”

Rosalie nodded and let her gaze wander along the neatly labelled ingredients along the walls with interest—all in alphabetical order, labels neatly turned outwards.

“Was there something you wanted, Potter?” he asked finally, glancing up at her from his work briefly.

“I’m bored,” she sighed.

Snape gave her a look, “and you felt the need to share this information with me?”

Rosalie moved further into the room and slid herself up onto a spare stool sitting on the opposite side of his workbench.

“You know, I didn’t even realise this room existed till just the other day,” She told him, ignoring the look of annoyance he shot her.

“All old wizarding homes have a potions lab to some degree. It dates back to the days when many witches and wizards still made their own remedies. Now, most simply purchase them,” he told her.

Rosalie nodded with interest, “I doubt they were so well stocked, though. I don’t remember see half this stuff in the Potions lab at Hogwarts!”

“While that wouldn’t surprise me, I believe I said they were from my personal stores,” He answered, “As such, they were not kept ‘on display’ in the potions lab at Hogwarts where thieving students could come and stick their noses in where they didn’t belong.”

Rosalie grinned innocently, “I’ve never stolen from you.”

“Is there a purpose to this visit, Potter, or are you simply trying to annoy me?” he asked again.

Rosalie shook her head, “Like I told you, I’m bored and I thought I could practice Legilimency while you work.”

Snape arched and eyebrow at her sceptically, “There are so many things wrong with that idea I don’t even know where to begin, but perhaps you might consider that I am currently in the process of trying to design a highly difficult potion that is also proving to be quite unstable and do not need the added distraction of you probing my mind.”

“I need the practice though,” She pointed out.

“Undeniably. This, however, is not a good time,” Snape replied firmly.

Rosalie sighed.

“Can I at least watch?” she asked.

Snape eyed her doubtfully, like he didn’t truly believe she could find nothing better to do than watch him brew. Rosalie could admit it wouldn’t be her first choice either, but it was better than nothing. In some ways, being stuck here day in and day out was worse than being couped up at the Dursley’s. At least at her relative’s house she’d had her chores to keep her busy or school work, even. She’d been able to go outside or talk a walk up the street and even though here she had the run of the house and could do what she pleased, there was nothing to do when she wasn’t locked away with one of her instructors and inevitably it gave her too much time alone with her thoughts.

“Aren’t your friends coming by to keep you entertained?” he prompted.

Rosalie shrugged, “Mrs. Weasley has them both helping with preparations for the wedding this weekend.”

Snape sighed, “Very well then, just don’t touch anything.”

Rosalie grinned at him, “Promise.”

Rosalie fell silent obediently, watching him as he quickly became absorbed once more in the brew process—adding ingredients and scribbling note on a spare bit of parchment he had set to one side to record his observations on how the potion bubbled and changed with each added ingredient. The liquid in his cauldron looked like fluid silk, an opaque silver, shimmering liquid that seemed to glow ever so slightly. Just looking at it made her feel happy and content and it made her wonder what kind of potion it was, exactly.

“What is it you’re making?” She asked in a hushed voice, as though lowering the volume of her voice would lessen the distraction.

“It is a variant of a truth serum that I am developing at the Dark Lord’s request,” Snape replied evenly.

Rosalie shudder she looked at it again with new eyes, knowing that anything the Dark Lord had requested was likely to be more than a simple truth serum, “What’s wrong with Veritaserum?”

Severus glanced at her fleetingly, “Nothing, but it can be outsmarted and it doesn’t trick you into believing you loved ones are being tortured in front of your eyes as this one will.”

Rosalie looked at the potion in horror before her gaze found his above the clouds of purple smoke that were beginning to billow up from the cauldron between them. It still made her feel happy to look at, but knowing what it for made it a twisted happiness—a false happiness.

“Why?” She asked. It was a simple question with so many different meanings, but she knew Snape understood.

He didn’t answer her right away, instead concentrating on his notes as he documented the most recent reaction. 

“Because the Dark Lord would know I was a traitor if I didn’t, and because _this_ , at least, I can delay and draw out as long as possible without arousing too much suspicion,” he told her finally, holding her gaze with steady eyes.

Rosalie blinked and looked away from those piercing black eyes that seemed to see right through her.

“I have been forced to do far worse in order to keep my cover in the past,” Snape told her, “I am not always wholly trusted, seemingly in ‘Dumbledore’s Pocket’ as I am and every now and then the Dark Lord likes to spring something on me to make me prove my continued loyalties to him and ‘The Cause’. In retrospect, I don’t find this nearly as distasteful as it could be.” 

Rosalie’s stomach twisted and she realised suddenly how little she truly understood about what it meant for Snape to be a spy. How hard it would be to have to make those kinds of decisions and justifications. She complained and bemoaned the weight of responsibility that sat on her own shoulders, but if was nothing compared to what Snape must’ve faced on a daily basis. She’d always thought of Snape’s Death Eater activity as being in the past. She knew now that that couldn’t be the case. Voldemort wouldn’t simply allow him to be a Death Eater in name alone and while she was sure he probably avoided what he could... 

Rosalie shut her eyes as she remembered what it had been like to witness some of those Death Eater meeting and raids though her visions. Death, torture, rape...

She felt sick.

“I assure you it is not as bad as you are probably thinking,” Snape told her, no doubt having seen a little of what had passed behind her eyes, “The Dark Lord believes I am _his_ spy and that Dumbledore is still in the dark about my ‘true allegiances’. As such, I am exempt from much of the...fun and games, in order to maintain my cover. As long as I continue to feed him information on Dumbledore and yourself, he is content to keep me as his resident potions master for the most.”

Rosalie nodded, though she was under no illusions that it couldn’t be as simple as he made it sound. Taking a deep breath she offered him a small smile that she hoped was reassuring. She knew he wasn’t the type of man to accept or want her pity and so she didn’t let herself feel it.

“So, how close to done are you?” she asked.

“In reality, I’d calculate being a couple of hours off done, though it is hard to know for sure,” he replied, “As far as the Dark Lord is concerned, it is extremely unstable and will take longer than expected—a week? Maybe more if I can string it out. I’ll bring him samples during that time which he’ll test on some of his lower ranking Death Eater’s to keep him satisfied I’m making progress.”

Rosalie nodded, “is there an antidote?”

“Currently, it wears off with time, much like Veritaserum,” Snape lectured as he leant over the potion to stir slowly and carefully in a clockwise direction, “Ultimately I will aim to create an antidote that can be taken prior to ingestion to counteract the effects, that must be done after the original potion is complete, however.”

Rosalie watched as long tapered fingers deftly measured and diced 6 ounces of petrified snow beetles with amazing speed and precision. 

“Why a truth serum?” Rosalie asked in confusion, “Why now? Is he looking for information?”

Snape shook his head briskly, “No, he’s looking for traitors.”

“ _What_?” she gasped, looking at him in horror.

Snape gave her a small, mirthless smile, “I’m not under suspicion yet, though I don’t doubt I’ll be one of the first victims to undergo interrogation once it’s done.”

Rosalie worried her bottom lip between her teeth, “By then you’ll have made the antidote though, right?”

“One would hope,” Snape replied.

His answer hadn’t been as reassuring as it could have been, but that was Snape. She wondered briefly if he even had any family? She didn’t think so, but if that was true, who would he see being tortured when he was under the influence of his own potion? Maybe, Dumbledore? She didn’t know if they were close like that though...

“Rose?”

Rosalie glanced back over her shoulder at the door as her friends voices called out to her from the kitchen.

“I don’t think I need to remind you that this conversation is to remain confidential,” Snape said, his tone telling her he wasn’t truly concerned she’d blab. She’d never spilled any of his other secrets she’d happened upon—not even back in fifth year.

“Of course not,” Rosalie agreed, “I’ll see you later.’

“No doubt,” he replied dryly.

Rosalie chuckled and with one last smile, she slipped from the room.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Eight**

The 31st of July dawned bright and sunny and became even more so as the day drew on. Rosalie, as usual, had been up with the birds, awake early enough to be able to watch the sun crest over the horizon and track its faithful path up into the sky. A shiver had passed over her as the shadows of the night were chased from the land and Rosalie had taken a minute to acknowledge the cold knot that seemed to resided within her—the creeping feeling of foreboding that this day always brought with it—before she let the bright sun warm her through and she brushed the feeling aside in favour of getting ready for the day ahead.

She’d showered and dressed, taking longer than usual in the shower as she’d tried in vain to scrub the fatigue from her tired body and made her way downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

A happy smile broke out across her face at the sight of the neatly wrapped package sitting in the middle of the breakfast table as she entered the room and then grew as her gaze landed on the dour looking Potions Master who sat a small ways behind it.

“Morning!” She chirped, making a beeline for the tea pot on the stove.

Snape glanced up at her from the _Prophet_ that was draped across his lap. 

“Good morning,” he returned in his usual silky tones, holding out his empty tea cup in a silent request.

Rosalie took his cup and fixed them both tea with an ease of familiarity that no longer surprised her. A year ago, if someone had told her she’d come to know something as trivial and mundane as how Snape took his tea without question—and vice versa—she’d have laughed herself stupid, but it was the little things like that that spoke to her of how far they’d come. 

Rosalie stared at the package inquisitively as she lowered herself into the chair opposite him, one hand outstretched absently with his tea.

“Is this for me?”

“One would assume,” Snape replied as he accepted the cup from her with a nod of thanks, before turning his attention back to the paper before him.

Rosalie reached out and slid the package over to her, wondering who would be sending her presents that she wouldn’t see later that day?

“Who is it from?” She pondered aloud.

Snape arched an eyebrow in her direction, “Perhaps you should open it and find out.”

It was neatly wrapped in brown postage wrapping, a thin piece of twine holding everything in place expertly. Not very celebratory, but practical, she supposed. Rosalie ran her hands over it curiously as she picked it up. It was about the size of a notebook, firm to touch and two inches thick. A book, perhaps? Though, Hermione was the only person she could think of who was likely to send her a book for her birthday and the young witch would be arriving around lunchtime anyway. Rosalie was frowning as she slipped her fingers underneath the twine and tugged it off to one side, stretching it until she could loop it over the one corner of the package and tug it off all together. Opening up one end of the package she glanced inside to find that she’d only been half right. Inside rested a leather-bound black book that looked old and worn and a stack of parchments that were clipped in a neat pile on top of it. 

Resting atop of that was a letter:

 

__  
Dear Miss Potter,  
Please find attached all documentation pertaining to your inheritances from both the estate of the late Mr and Mrs Potter (your parents) and that bequeathed to you in the last Will and Testament of one Sirius Orion Black (your Godfather) as his sole heir and beneficiary. 

_As you are now considered of legal age by Wizarding law, all accounts and property previously held in trust have been transferred into your name in accordance to the wishes of your late parents and godfather._

_If you have any questions pertaining to documentation enclosed, please feel free to contact my office to arrange a time which suits to discuss any questions and queries you may have on the topic._

_Wishing you a very happy birthday,_  
Sincerely,  
Tobias Whittaker  
Wizarding Solicitor of Louis  & Whittaker 

 

Rosalie lowered the letter with trembling hands and reached back into the packaging. She had an inheritance? From her parents? From _Sirius_? The parchments inside contained page after page of account balances belonging to her parents, grandparents, Sirius; property listings throughout Europe that had once belonged to the Potter Family; business shares the Black Family had invested in which had Sirius had inherited and had now been passed on to her.

“Potter?”

Rosalie swallowed thickly. She pulled out the thin leather-bound book from the bottom of the stack. The title emblazoned across the front in ornate silver lettering read: ‘ _The Potter Family_ ’. Rosalie flicked through the pages, realising almost at once that it was a family listing containing the names of what seemed like every member ever born, married, or deceased to have passed through the Potter’s family. Hurriedly she flicked to the back of the book and found her parent’s names: 

 

_‘James Adrian Potter, born on the 27th of March 1960, son of Adrian and Grace Potter, married to Lily Potter nee Evans August 1979.’_

 

Rosalie felt her eyes begin to well up as she traced her fingers over the black lettering and the thin line connecting her father and mother’s names, then upwards over that of her grandparents. She felt ashamed to think that she’d never really thought of her grandparents much before—she hadn’t even known their names. The page ran out of space at the bottom and she traced her fingers downwards, flipping the page over knowing that her own name would be on the other side. Alone.

 

_‘Rosalie Grace Potter, born 31st of July 1980, daughter and only child of Lily and James Potter.’_

 

The page beneath her name was blank, ready for her to carry on the Potter line if not in name, then at least in blood. Rosalie thought about her parents as she stared at the blank page, feeling the weight of a family line that was centuries old settle on her shoulder as she stared at her name. She was the last living Potter. The only one who had the ability to fill this page with more names and she couldn’t help but wondered, for perhaps the first time in her life, if her parents had wished she’d been a boy? A boy who could have carried on the Potter name? Had her father felt this way when he’d been shown the book? He must have seen it, after all, for her to have inherited it from his possessions.

“Potter?” Snape questioned again, his voice strangely quiet. Gentle.

Rosalie looked up at him, “Yes?”

Snape frowned, “Is something wrong?”

Rosalie looked back down at the paperwork in her hands and shook her head, “No.”

Snape didn’t look convinced and his eyes continued to study her closely as she gathered everything up into a neat pile once more. Rosalie smiled at him fleetingly. 

“It’s fine— _I’m_ fine,” She said again, “I’m just going to take these upstairs though, okay?”

Snape’s gaze flicked to the pile of papers, “If you wish.”

Rosalie nodded again and turned to leave, wondering what Snape would have to say if her saw the figures of money she’d apparently just inherited. She’d already been wealthy; living off of what she’d thought was her parent’s fortune. Money that she’d inherited at the time of their death. Apparently that had only been her trust account, made available to her only as means to live off until she could legally inherit their estate. Now she’d just become even wealthier and the thought was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to _do_ with that much money.

“Potter?”

Rosalie glanced back at him over her shoulder, “Yes, sir?”

“Happy Birthday,” he told her evenly.

A grateful smile blossomed over her face and Severus felt something inside him clench at the sight of it. 

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely and disappeared from the room.

Severus watched her leave and then lent across the table to pick up the discarded postage wrappings she’d left lying off to one side. Curiously he flipped it over until he could read the return postal address. 

 

__  
Louis and Whittaker Family Solicitors,  
Shop 301, Diagon Alley  
London.   


 

Curious his eyes strayed back to the door where he’d last seen her disappear and wondered what business a soliciting firm had with Rosalie Potter.

*

“Happy Birthday!”

Rosalie blinked and looked around the room and blinked again, her mouth falling open in shock.

“I, um...what?”

Ron popped up beside her chuckling and slung an arm around her waist, “Surprised?”

Rosalie nodded. The room was _full_ of people. People that were apparently here to celebrate her birthday, given the bright banner hanging from the ceiling that read: ‘Happy 17th Birthday Rose!’ 

Amazing.

Ron was smiling down at her with twinkling eyes and Rosalie could help but grin back up at him. 

“When did you guys have time to organise this?” she asked in amazement.

“It wasn’t so hard,” Hermione replied as she appeared at her other elbow with a grin. There were hundreds of floating candles hovering overhead, illuminating the gloomy basement kitchen like she’d never seen it before; balloons and streamers decorated the walls and there was enough food to feed a small army covering the long kitchen bench, which someone had pushed up against the far wall as a kind of buffet.

“Not so hard?” she asked again.

Ron shrugged with a small grin, “Mum did most of the cooking. ‘Mione and me, we just organised the decorations and passed the word around. Fred and George supplied the beverages—so don’t drink anything you didn’t open yourself—and all anyone else had to do was show up.”

Rosalie grinned at her friends with shinning eyes, “I don’t know what to say...Thank you! I’ve never...”

Hermione nodded and pulled her into a hug, “We know. Come on. Let’s go get you something to drink, I think I saw some punch sitting on the table...”

Ron made a dubious noise, “Like I said, I wouldn’t touch anything you didn’t open yourself, if I were you,” Ron cautioned, “Gred and Forge were lurking around the punch table earlier, and I’d wager every galleon I own that they’ve spiked it somehow.”

Rosalie laughed happily, “So? If I’m going to have fun, I may as well have fun.”

“Yeah, but who’ll be laughing when you’re a three foot chicken with purple feathers?” Hermione replied teasingly.

Rosalie laughed, “Fred and George?”

“Our ears are ringing,” One of the twins announced as they found the trio still clustered around the kitchen door.

Rose smiled up at the two of them. Their eyes were twinkling with mischievousness. 

“You should get that checked out,” she teased.

“What we want to know is why you three are stuck over here instead of having fun?” The one Rosalie thought might have been Fred asked.

“We were just weighing up the potential risks,” Ron told them, sending them a half-hearted glare, “I saw you lurking by the drinks table earlier and now we’re not entirely sure it’s safe.”

“You wound us, brother,” George replied, “It’s perfectly safe... in so far as, it won’t cause any lasting damage—”

“Physical damage, that is,” Fred interrupted.

“Right you are, Fred,” George agreed seriously, “...in so far as, it won’t cause any lasting _physical_ damage to your person. Mentally and emotionally, we make no such promises.”

Fred nodded, “Wounded pride can be had to overcome.”

“Wow! If that doesn’t sell your products, I don’t know what will!” Rosalie replied with chuckling sarcasm.

Hermione frowned, “If it’s not safe, then what on earth are you doing putting it in our _food_?”

“‘Mione, they just go through telling us how it _is_ safe! Sort of.” Ron started.

Hermione snorted, “Oh, sure! How silly of me to have missed that.”

Hermione glared at the redhead as Ron nodded.

“Buck up, ‘Mione,” George chipped in good-naturedly, “All it does is change your skin colour for a bit. So, mum and dad might end up walking around _blue_ for a little while? Like we said, it’s not permanent.”

As if on cue a loud shriek came from across the room and the little group turned as one to see Fleur watching helplessly as Bill’s skin slowly began to change to a sickly looking green colour that clashed horribly with his long red hair.

“There’s no telling what colour you’ll turn,” Fred whispered mock-seriously with a little pitying shake of his head.

George chuckled loudly in amusement and Fleur’s furious gaze immediately zeroed in on them.

“That’s our cue to leave,” George stage whispered, as Fred grabbed him arm and pulled him off into the crowd.

Hermione was rolling her eyes even though a small amused smirk lifted the corners of her mouth.

“So, the punch is a no go,” Ron confirmed, “but I’m pretty sure I saw a crate of butterbeer sitting on the bench.”

Ron took her hand and Rosalie let herself be pulled into the crowd of people—Order members, school teachers, friends and even one or two of their school mates. She grinned as she caught sight of Snape standing off to one side chatting to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick over what was probably a glass of scotch.

“This is amazing,” She said again, to Hermione who was trailing behind her.

Hermione smiled, “I think everyone was just glad for the chance to celebrate something.”

Rosalie nodded thinking suddenly about how much had changed in only a few short months. People were afraid to leave their homes now and there was little to rejoice over. Voldemort had infected almost every aspect of their lives like some terminal disease—a cancer, determined to get the better of them. It was nice to be reminded that even with everything that had happened and was still happening around them, people still knew how to laugh and be happy. Someone—the twins, most likely—had managed to get some music playing and across the room a small patch of space had opened up into an impromptu dance floor. She could see Molly and Arthur Weasley out there, smiling hugely at one another as Arthur swung his wife expertly around the dance floor in time with the upbeat music. Neville and Ginny were out there too, alongside Tonks whose pink head was bopping out of time to the music unselfconsciously. Rosalie felt a warm knot of contentment pulse briefly somewhere inside of her. She loved these people, each and every one of them.

“Rose!”

Rosalie turned as she heard someone calling her name and felt a rush of happiness wash over her as she caught sight of her pseudo-godfather weaving his way through the crowd towards her. 

“Moony!” She greeted happily, breaking free of her friends to walk happily into his outstretched arms, “I didn’t think you’d make it back in time!”

He chuckled, “Well I did, but only just!”

“This is amazing, don’t you think?” She asked gesturing around the room.

“Very impressive,” He agreed, “You have a lot of friends and people who care for you.”

“I know. The feeling is mutual,” Rosalie smiled, “You look tired, has it been a long trip?”

“I’m a little tired, perhaps,” He conceded, “But not so much to keep me from celebrating your birthday with you. I’m sorry but I didn’t have an opportunity to buy you a present before I got here.”

Rosalie shook her head, “You know I don’t care about that, Remus. I’m just glad you could be here. That’s what matters.”

Remus nodded, “Me too. Go on though, have fun with your friends. You and I can catch up later.”

Rosalie lent forward impulsively, wrapping her arms around his middle again, “Thanks, Moony.”

She felt Remus smooth a hand over the back of her head, “Happy Birthday, Rose.”

“Mind if I steal the birthday girl?” Someone asked from behind her. Bill Weasley she thought, recognising the deep timbre of his voice.

“Be my guest,” Remus agreed and Rosalie laughed as he grabbed her about the waist yanking her out of Remus’s arms, hefting her upwards and spinning her out onto the dance floor, arms tightly banded around her waist.

“Hey!” She heard Ron protest as she was literally whisked away from her two best friends, who’d been standing off to one side patiently while she spoke with Remus.

“Bill!” She laughed as he continued to spin her around wildly, “We’re going to injure someone!”

A deep chuckle sounded from behind her and she was lowered to the ground and spun around in his arms as he started dancing with her vigorously to the beat of the music. A still slightly green-tinged Bill Weasley grinned mischievously down at her.

“Happy Birthday!” 

“That shade of green suits you,” Rosalie teased.

“You think?” He asked, with mock vanity, before twirling her away from him and then back in again.

Against her will she felt a thrill shoot through her, reminding her of the horrendous crush she’d had on Bill only a year or two ago. He was ridiculously good looking and even though she no longer dreamed or fantasized about him that way, she wasn’t immune to his charms either and he was being purposefully charming as he whirled her about.

Fleur was a lucky girl.

“Is Fleur still mad?” she asked with a laugh in her voice.

Bill smirked, “I think she was worried I’d end up green in all of our wedding photos.”

Rosalie grinned, “I don’t blame her! It’d clashed horribly with your hair!”

“You may be right,” he conceded, “Though I don’t know how being green is any worse than this.”

Rosalie’s eyebrows furrowed as he gestured absently to his scarred face—injuries Fenrir Greyback had given him at the end of last term in the fight at Hogwarts. She hadn’t even noticed, as amazing as that seemed. Bill had been smiling at her and all she’d seen was ‘Bill’. The Bill who was still handsome, charming and probably the ‘coolest’ person she knew despite the scars that now marred his face.

“I don’t know, Bill,” Rosalie told him seriously, “I doubt she even sees any of your scars when she looks at you. I don’t.”

Bill gave her a soft smile and drew her into a hug. Rosalie wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back happily.

“Right,” He agreed with a quick smile.

Rosalie punched him lightly on the shoulder, lightening the mood a little again, “I’m getting more hugs tonight then I think I have my entire life!”

Bill arched a teasing eyebrow at her, “Yes, but you were deprived your entire life, so that isn’t saying much.”

“True,” she returned blandly.

Bill laughed loudly drawing a few looks from different people about the room.

“You’re making people stare at us,” she whined playfully.

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he returned, “Merlin forbid people stare at _Rosalie Potter_ , that’s almost unheard of!”

Rosalie huffed, “Oh...shut up!”

He laughed again.

“Here,” he told her, summoning a two glasses of champagne over from the drinks table, “To your coming of age!”

Rosalie accepted the glass warily, “Is it safe to drink?”

Bill shrugged with a grin, “Only one way to find out.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes good naturedly at him, “Cheers!”

*

“What’s got you’re knickers in a twist, little brother?” Fred asked as he sidled up beside his glowering brother who stood off to one side, butterbeer clutched in one hand, gaze dark as he lent against the wall moodily.

“Nothing,” Ron grouched, taking a swig from his bottle.

“You know, this whole moody, brooding image you’ve got going on would be a whole lot more effective if you were drinking something with a little more kick in it than _butterbeer_ ,” Fred continued, feigning hurt when Ron ignored him.

George slumped against the wall beside him imitating Ron’s pose as he followed his younger brother’s gaze out across the room until his eyes landed on the laughing happy form of one Rosalie Potter as their eldest brother took her for a spin on the dance floor.

“Do mine eyes deceive me, Fred? Or is it the lovely Miss Rosalie Potter who has so completely captured our darling brother’s brooding attention?” George simpered teasingly.

“Shove off,” Ron growled.

Fred’s eyebrows shot up, “You know, I do believe you’re right, George!”

“Could it be?” George asked dramatically.

“Amazing!” Fred cried.

“Unbelievable!”

Ron huffed and began to stalk off, away from them and their relentless teasing.

“We’re right, aren’t we? You have a crush on, Rose?” Fred asked, his tone losing some of its mocking edge as he bounced around to block his brother’s exit.

Ron glared at him.

“Seriously?” George asked as their brother seemed to deflate before them with a mournful nod.

“I knew it!” Fred crowed in delight.

“That’s it,” Ron groused, “laugh at me! It’s all a big joke!”

George’s eyebrows shot up, “Whose laughing, little brother?”

“Just—Don’t you dare say anything! To anyone! I don’t want anyone to know,” Ron hissed.

The twins frowned at him, “Why?”

“‘Cause,” Ron muttered.

George gave him an expectant look.

Ron growled, “Just don’t, okay. You don’t get it.” 

“So tell us,” Fred prompted.

Ron glanced over his shoulder at his best friend still laughing a giggling in his eldest brother’s arms. His heart did this horrible little lurch at the sight of her. Merlin, he had it bad.

Ron shook his head.

“Rose is just—there’s no other girl like her, right? She’s funny and cool, she cooks almost as good as mum, she easy to get along with and she can hang with the rest of the guys and talk about Quiddich and stuff, you know? But at the same time she’s so...so _girly_... She’s so beautiful! All the guys at school want her, but just seeing her makes my heart, like, triple in rate it’s beating so fast, you know?” Ron told his brother’s forlornly.

Fred whistled.

“So, tell her,” George said, like it was the easiest solution in the world.

“I can’t,” Ron denied.

“Why not?” Fred pushed, “It’s not hard, you just walk up to her as tell her you’re in love with her. Or, ask her out on a date, or something. You just have to go up to her and be, like: ‘Hey Rose, you and me? How ‘bout it?’. Dead easy—”

Ron’s huff of frustration cut his brother of short, “She’s my best friend!”

“So?” Fred argued, “She’s not seeing anyone is she?”

“You’ve given up before you’ve even had a shot at her. As far as anyone’s concerned at the moment, she’s fair game, mate,” George told him plainly, “The only thing stopping you is your lack of balls. Go ask her out.”

Fred slung an arm around his shoulders, “The worst that can happen is she’ll say no.”

“And I will have lost one of my best friends,” Ron pointed out sarcastically, “and completely humiliated myself in the process!”

“Not if you don’t hold it against her,” George countered, “I mean _she_ isn’t going to hold it against _you_ is she? Either way you’re paying her a compliment by showing your interest. The only way you’re friendship will suffer is if you let it.”

“Standing here glaring holes in Bill’s back isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Fred pointed out, “a) he’s our brother, b) Bill’s getting _married tomorrow_ and c) they’re just dancing!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ron conceded.

“You know,” George said, “I always thought it’d be Hermione you went for.”

Ron scrunched his nose, “Hermione’s beautiful too, I guess. But...I don’t know. She’s just not my type, I suppose. She’s like a sister.”

The three brother’s watched as Bill finally let Rosalie go in favour of dancing with his fiancée and instead Rosalie began to make her way over to the buffet table.

George nudged him in the side, “Here’s your chance!”

Ron glared at him, “I’m not doing it in front of bloody _Snape._ ”

Fred conceded the point, “That’s a fair point, I guess. Snape probably would hold it over your head for the rest of your life.”

Ron moaned. 

“Merlin, I just don’t get that!” He exclaimed gesturing at his friend as she seemed to strike up a conversation with the dour looking potions professor happily, “How are they like _friends_ or something now? It just doesn’t make sense! She swears it’s true though! Rosalie used to _hate_ Snape and now they’re like best buddies or something!”

George shrugged, “Don’t know, mate. Weirder things have happened though, I guess.”

Ron shook his head, “Nu-ah. Not weirder than that.”

Fred laughed, “You’re not jealous of _Snape_ are you?”

Ron blushed a brilliant brick red and the twins fell into gales of laughed around him.

“Oh you _are_!” One of them exclaimed hilariously.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked as she joined them. The twins snickered and glanced back at Ron.

“Shove off!” He told them again and turned to stalk back off across the room.

*

Severus stared at her calculatingly as Potter weaved her way over to him.

“I think it’s entirely possible, you’ve had too much to drink,” he told her as she came to stand before him.

She licked her lips, moistening the dry flesh as she looked up at him. Her hair had a windswept look from dancing and her cheeks were flushed red with excitement. 

Severus looked away.

“I’m alright,” she assured him with a grin, “All I’ve had is a glass of champagne, just now. I’m not sure I liked the taste.”

Severus smirked. A glass of champagne was probably enough given her lack of experience in the way of alcohol.

“Wine is often an acquired taste,” he told her.

She nodded, not really having anything to add to the topic, “I guess. So, are you having fun?”  
“Fun?”

She glanced up at him cheekily, “Yes, ‘fun’. Do you require the definition of the word?” 

Severus flashed a glare at her fleetingly, surprised when she giggled. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound, nothing like the high pitched tittering one heard in the Hogwarts halls year round and he was surprised that such a sound had come out of her. Deep, breathy, teasing... It seemed far too mature for someone her age, but then again, what had he expected from Potter? Some days—most days, recently—she seemed old beyond her now seventeen years. 

“I am...not resolved to hating the experience, though it is true that it does not rank particularly highly on my list of recreational activities to indulge in,” he replied truthfully, before raising his glass with a little shake, “the company has been good.”

“Scotch?” she asked.

Severus nodded.

Potter smiled, “Do you ever drink anything else?”

“It is a rare occasion that calls for something stronger,” he replied.

“May I try some?”

Severus quirked a questioning eyebrow at her but held out his glass. Potter took it from him with gentle fingers and raised the glass to her nose. She sniffed delicately and wrinkled her nose at the aroma, shooting him a dubious look before bravely lowering the glass to her lips and taking a small experimental sip.

She winced as she swallowed and coughed a little at the taste.

Severus smirked at her as she held the glass back out to him determinedly. 

“Not to your liking?” he asked with amusement as he accepted the tumbler back from her.

Her eyebrows pinched together as she stared at the glass in his hands as if it had offended her, “Another ‘acquired taste’, I think.”

Severus fought against the sudden urge to chuckle.

“Indeed,” he agreed, settling on a satisfied smirk. 

Severus’ gaze wandered over her shoulder, his eyes drawn to the scowling face of Ronald Weasley who was glaring at them from across the room. The redhead’s dark gaze had been tracking Potter all night and he wondered idly if they’d had a falling out before he further concluded that he cared not either way if they had. 

“I think, perhaps—”

Severus cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain, and his left hand tensed around the glass in his hand.

Potter’s eyes immediately lost some of their mirth and her gaze shot to his forearm. Clever girl, he thought absently as he reached out to put his drink to one side. Severus turned masked eyes back to meet her worried gaze as her fingertips disappeared under her fringe to rub absently at her scar.

“Voldemort?” she mouthed.

Severus nodded tightly, “Excuse me.”

Rosalie watched as he turned without preamble and made his way across the room to the floo making eye contact across the room with the Headmaster briefly as Dumbledore chatted to Moody and Shacklebolt as he left. No one else in the room seemed to turn as the fire flared green and whisked Snape away from the party, but the cold knot of dread in her stomach that she’d been ignoring all day tightened inside of her, making her feel sick as her insides twisted uncomfortably. She’d known this day wouldn’t pass unmarked in some way, how could it? Her only choice now was to wait and try and prepare herself for the news the morning would no doubt bring. 

“Hey!”

Rosalie turned to the voice, to Ron, who had suddenly appeared beside her. There was an awkward looking smile plastered across his face and his eyes seemed tight with worry and she wondered if he too had seen Snape’s abrupt exit. 

“Hey,” She replied slowly.

Rosalie met Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze across the room. He looked as calm as ever and he offered her a small smile and a nod of his head in acknowledgement and she wondered if it was all a front or whether she was simply overreacting. Yet she couldn’t help the creeping feeling of unease, like the calm before the storm, like her body was gearing up for that moment of ‘fight or flight’.

“So,” Ron asked lowly, his unease also palpable. Did he feel it too? Surely he had to; why else would he suddenly be at her side, worry darkening his brow.

He cleared his throat, “I was wondering—”

Rosalie cried out as a sharp pain ripped through her head suddenly, buckling her knees and blacking out her vision. She heard an echoing cry of shock from Ron as she fell and for one horrifying second she thought they were somehow being attacked, but she couldn’t make herself function. She couldn’t make herself move. She felt like she was being sucked down and down and she realised abruptly that Voldemort was pulling on their link, trying to force it open and drag her mind down into his. Her mind snapped taut under the onslaught, ricochets of pain piercing out through her skull and down the back of her neck as she fought to maintain her Occlumency shields against him. 

“Rose!” Ron cried, grabbing her under her arms as she stared to sink to the floor.

Red-hot festering rage felt like it was pouring over her, creeping over her skin and showering her in filth and anger—in pure violence. Voldemort was out there somewhere and he was furious, his rage all consuming. The malevolence was unlike anything she’d ever felt and it felt like it was directed entirely at her, a manifestation of his frustration at not being able to find her. She pitied anyone who got in his way tonight and prayed like hell it wasn’t Snape.

“Rose?”

Her eyes fluttered open again without her having been aware of closing them in the first place. Something hot and slick was running down the side of her face—blood, she realised, from her scar. There were faces all around her, watching over her with worry as she sagged boneless in her best friend’s arms.

“I’m okay,” She told them, her voice somehow hoarse and weak, as she pushed herself up out of Ron’s firm embrace. He seemed reluctant to let her go.

“You’re bleeding,” Hermione stated obviously, as she whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it to Rosalie’s forehead.

Rosalie smiled in thanks and took the soft cloth from Hermione’s hands, “I’m okay. Really. It just took me by surprise.” 

“I thought that wasn’t meant to happen anymore?” Ron asked, looking almost accusingly up at Dumbledore as though the Headmaster had somehow lied to him.

Rosalie shook her head, “It wasn’t a vision. He was just...angry. He was battering at my shields with his own mind, I think. I could feel his anger and frustration at being unable to reach me. I didn’t see anything...I don’t know if something happened...”

“It was always a strong possibility Voldemort might try something tonight,” Dumbledore said gravely, “I was hoping we might have had some forewarning, but alas, I fear we will read about it in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Well, that’s one way to kill a party,” George muttered jokingly, bumping her gently with his shoulder.

Rosalie nodded, not able to muster the same levity—even as forced as she knew it must be.

“Perhaps it’s time we all retire for the evening?” Dumbledore suggested, glancing around the room at the now mostly deflated party, “Rose, if I might have a quick word?”

Rosalie nodded and together they turned and left the room.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Nine**

Rosalie shivered as she pulled the thick woollen blanket she’d taken from her bed around her huddled form more tightly. She couldn’t sleep—no surprises, there—but she hadn’t even tried that night. Not when the remnants of Voldemort’s anger still clung to her skin like a disease. She felt dirty in a way no amount of soap or water could ever help clean. The touch of Voldemort’s mind against hers was something she’d thought never to experience again and though he had not breached her shields, the force of his emotions were enough to leave her reeling. She’d been up most of the night, slowly watching the hours tick by and the night sky lighten to the pinkish-grey of predawn light that now filtered in through the large window. She supposed she could have stayed in the warmth of her bed, but the idea of contaminating her space with the remnants of the previous night sickened her and so she’d ended up back on the midnight blue couch in the training room she spent so much of her time in. It had become a sort of haven to her, she supposed. Or perhaps it was just the fact that there was little cause for anyone else to be in there and so she was almost guaranteed her privacy? A place to think...

The thought that that rage could have been directed at someone—a muggle child, or someone’s husband or wife!—was sickening and it served only to reinforce the fact that people in this war were needlessly dying! Murdered by Death Eaters! That children were being kidnapped and killed for sport; that whole families were being torn apart and tortured, while here _she_ was doing nothing but hiding away in some creepy old house!

Rosalie’s hand slapped over her mouth to stifle the sob that stole her breath away. What was she doing? She’d allowed herself to be shut away in this quiet, safe little world after killing that Death Eater, when that exactly what she should be out there trying to do! 

Rosalie pulled the blanket around herself more tightly, trying desperately comfort herself when her thoughts could not. She deserved this, she deserved feel like this. Dumbledore had told her again that night that this was where she was needed; that this was the best place for her until they’d searched out and destroyed all of Voldemort’s horcruxes, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. Or perhaps accepting it was her real problem? Maybe it was presumptuous, but she couldn’t help but feel that Dumbledore didn’t always understand. He seemed so unruffled by anything and everything that she felt sometimes that he simply didn’t understand the weight of emotion—responsibility—that bound her. She could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on her shoulders, threatening to crush the life out of her and she knew it was because there were people out there wondering ‘where was Rosalie Potter?’. All because she was the bloody Girl-Who-Lived! It felt like now, more than ever, they needed to be pressing onwards with their hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. Dumbledore had agreed to allow Ron, Hermione and herself access to Hogwarts so that they could investigate the Chamber of Secrets, and that was exactly what she intended for them to do once Fleur and Bill’s wedding was behind them.

Rosalie glanced anxiously as more and more of the sun began to track its way up into the sky. Snape was yet to return and she wondered what that meant, if it meant anything at all or if she was simply casting assumptions she had no basis for. Snape was only living at Grimmauld Place in order to guard _her_ and Remus and the Weasleys were all currently in residence. It was possible, she supposed, that he’d been dismissed and sent home and he’d chosen not to return to Grimmauld Place. She knew he had a home of his own somewhere, though she wasn’t sure exactly where. It was possible. Maybe...

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder about the things he must have seen—or Merlin-forbid, done—last night. How had Voldemort chosen to vent his wrath and on who?

The door to the training room squeaked open interrupting her musings and Hermione’s bushy head peered in at her. 

“Rose?”

Rosalie offered her friend a small smile, “Hi.”

Hermione stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, “Are you okay?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

Rosalie gestured for her friend to come join her on the couch and Hermione made her way over, lifting the edge of the blanket to scoot underneath beside her friend.

“You’ve been crying,” Hermione stated, taking in the reddened skin around her friends eyes. 

Rosalie wiped at the tender skin self-consciously. Her face felt sticky and tight.

“A little,” She admitted, “I just hate feeling like I’m sitting here not doing anything, especially after a night like last night! He was so angry, ‘Mione. Beyond rage and fury. I just hate to think about what that might have meant for some poor family...”

Hermione nodded, “I know. I think I lay awake for hours last night wondering who might have been suffering after that outburst. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing something is going on but also knowing you can’t do anything about it.”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, exactly.”

“We are doing something about it though, Rose,” Hermione continued, “Maybe not last night, but for the long term. It’s all we can do at the moment.”

Rosalie nodded again, “I guess. I spoke with Dumbledore about searching the Chamber of Secrets...”

“And?” Hermione asked.

“He agreed that it was at least worth checking out, though I don’t know if he believes there is anything down there. He said he’d make Hogwarts available to us after the wedding today,” Rosalie explained.

Hermione smiled, “Well that’s something. I can’t believe we won’t find anything though, it all just makes too much sense.”

“I thought we could go as early as tomorrow,” Rosalie suggested, “I guess I just feel like we’re running out of time, you know?”

“No, not really, but I guess you’d have a better idea than anyone, wouldn’t you?” Hermione said, pointing at the scar on Rosalie’s forehead. 

Rosalie ran her fingers over the lightning bolt scar carefully it was still raised and sore, the skin immediately around it reddened and ultrasensitive to touch, though the lightning bolt itself had scabbed over from the previous night. 

“It looks hideous now, being all raised and angry looking,” She complained gently, “I’m going to look horrible for the wedding.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Rose, you couldn’t look horrible if you showed up wearing a potato sack. You always look good no matter what you’re wearing, it’s completely unfair!”

Rosalie frowned, “That’s not true and you know it. Anyway, I’m not talking about my dress; I’m talking about the dark circles under my eyes, my too pale skin and this butt-ugly thing on my forehead!”

Hermione gave her a look, “We can use make-up to cover that.”

“I hope you have a lot of it,” Rosalie muttered.

Hermione giggled. 

“Is anyone else up?” Rosalie asked.

Hermione nodded, “Mrs Weasley, but she’s been up at the crack of dawn for the last week trying to get things right for the wedding and she’s already floo’d across to the Burrow to make sure all the last minute details are in order. I think she might be more nervous than Bill is.”

Rosalie smiled.

Both girls jumped as the door to the training room banged open loudly, swinging back to slam against the wall behind it and Hermione gasped in shock, her hands flying to her mouth as she took in sight of the man standing in the doorway, cursing loudly to himself as he tried to wrestle his battered bleeding body out of cumbersome dark robes, that were torn and sodden with blood.

“Merlin!” he growled loudly, as he finally wrenched himself free and flung them off to one side with a wet slap.

“Snape?” Rosalie asked, pushing herself up off the couch in concern.

Severus Snape swung around to look at her and she felt her eyes widen in shock as she took in the state of his face. 

“Potter,” he replied tightly before his eyes slid back to take in Hermione’s horrified expression, “I have need of this room. Kindly, get out—”

“You’re injured,” Rosalie interrupted, dropping the blanket now as she made her way over to him.

“You’re powers of observation are astounding. Awe-inspiring, even. Who would have guessed?” He replied, his tone mocking as he turned his back on her, making his way over to the small cupboard in the corner of the room he’d had the good foresight to stock with healing potions and the like. 

Rosalie winced as she took in the state of his back, half exposed through the shredded material of his shirt. He seemed covered in blood, his clothing torn and his face battered and bruised; he had a long deep laceration running down the length of one side of his face that looked like someone had tried to carve his face off and he was wavering on his feet. 

Something twisted painfully in her stomach.

“How are you even standing?” She asked, moving forward to support him.

He tried to shrug her off, sneering menacingly at her when she battered his hands away with ease. 

“Just stop it. Sit down and let me help you. Tell me what you need,” She told him in a tone of voice could have very nearly been an order if it hadn’t come out so pleading.

Hermione watched in amazement as her friend practically ordered the surly Potions Master about as she gently manhandled him down into the chair that sat out from a small writing desk against the wall.

“I’ll just—” Hermione started, “Maybe I should go get Madame Pomfrey? Rose?”

Neither Snape nor Rosalie replied, but Snape was glowering at her friend darkly as she hurried across to the cupboard and began rifling through the stock of potions there.

“What do you need?” Rosalie prompted again as she started filing through the numerous little bottles lined and labelled neatly on the cupboard shelves. 

Snape’s frown deepened but his sigh was one of defeat. 

“The pale blue pain reliever—I believe you’ll recognise the one—blood-replenishing potion and the large bottle beside it that looks like pond sludge that has no label,” Snape bit out tiredly, relenting when it was obvious Rosalie wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

Rosalie moved quickly, pulling the required potions out and striding back over to the desk to line them up on the table before him as Hermione hovered uncertainly beside the couch, torn between helping and leaving to go send for the mediwitch. 

“Cruciatus?” Rosalie asked, noting the tremor in his hands.

Severus nodded.

“Have you taken—” Rosalie started.

“Yes,” he snapped.

“I need to get something to clean those wounds,” Rosalie said as she handed him the first potion.

Hermione was about to interrupt when Snape did it for her.

“Don’t bother,” He told her friend, his voice clipped, “The ‘pond sludge’ will take care of any brewing infection.”

Rosalie didn’t slow down though, and Hermione wondering if perhaps she wasn’t doing this as much for Snape as she was doing it for herself. To sate her need to be _doing_ something—anything—so that she could be helping out in some way.

“It looks like someone tried to take you face off, Snape,” Rosalie replied, apparently unconcerned at the iciness in the professor’s voice as her spoke to her, “What happened?”

“The Dark Lord was displeased with our efforts to ‘acquire’ you,” Snape told her honestly, “As the one closest to you and the Order; I bore the brunt of the punishment for my perceived failure.”

“I did this?” Rosalie asked breathlessly, staring at thinly.

“No,” Snape snapped reproachfully, “You had nothing to do with it. The _Dark Lord_ did this. If not for this reason, then he would have for another, simply because he wanted to.”

Rosalie pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. Instead she summoned a damp face cloth to press against the wound on his face that was still bleeding freely, “I think this needs to be spelled closed.”

“I’ve lived through worse,” Snape told her bluntly, but Rosalie ignored him.

Hermione watched as the Rosalie pulled out her wand and held it over the deep wound running the length of Snape’s face. Snape’s head immediately snapped around and his eyes narrowed.

“Potter! What—”

“Hold still,” Rosalie told him, “ _Vieo Tergum!_ ”

Hermione’s eyes popped open in both shock and horror as she watched her friend incant over the laceration, her wand moving in slow even movements as the spell began to knit the skin back together slowly. Snape went almost comically still beneath her wand, his eyes sharp and assessing. Rosalie’s wand hand was sure and steady as she first made her way down the wound and then slowly back up again until the laceration on Snape’s face had closed and all that was left was the shiny looking pink skin of a freshly healed wound. Snape stood abruptly, one hand flying to his face the second Rosalie was finished and he glared at the girl suspiciously, clearly as stunned as Hermione was at this hidden talent.

“Who taught you that spell?” He asked his voice oddly low and even.

“No one,” Rosalie replied, “I found a book on healing and I’ve been reading through it. It’s actually pretty interesting. I think it belonged to one of the Black’s that was burnt off of the family tree.”

Hermione noted Rosalie’s hands were shaking and took note of how she slumped against the desk and wondered how much power and energy a spell like that even required. Not something just anyone could achieve.

Snape was watching her critically and Hermione was waiting for the tirade she felt sure was about to be unleashed on her friend.

“You don’t look much better than I do,” He told her bluntly after a beat or so of silence and he reached for the blood-replenishing potion, downing it in one without flinching.

“It’s nothing,” She told him, “I’ve lived through worse.”

Snape grunted.

Hermione wasn’t sure what it was she was seeing, but she was amazed at the level of trust she was witnessing between two people who had once hated each other with a violent passion. As unbelievable as it seemed, she realised suddenly that they’d somehow become friends, though she was sure they hadn’t acknowledged that fact to one another. The truth was undeniable, though. In what other universe would Severus Snape accept help from Rosalie Potter while he still had power enough to deny her? Or sit still and allow Rosalie Potter to cast and unknown charm on his person, let alone his face?

“Will you be alright now?” Rosalie asked.

Snape sneered at her, “I would have been alright regardless.”

Hermione worried her lower lip as Rosalie glared at him mutinously, fury burning hotly in her eyes.

“Fine,” She told him, suddenly angry, “I’ll leave you to it then!”

Hermione watched as Rosalie spun on her heel and stalked back over to the couch where she was still standing numbly. Snatching up her blanket Rosalie nodded at the door to Hermione.

“Come on,” she told her, “Let’s go then.”

Hermione didn’t need telling twice, she was already out of the door when she heard him mutter a low ‘thank you, Potter’ to her friends retreating back, clearly not meant for her own untrustworthy ears. Hermione sucked in a quick breath as her knowledge of the world around her suddenly and irrevocably shifted on a fundamental level.

“You’re welcome,” Rosalie replied tersely and the door clicked closed behind them.

*

The transformation the Weasleys backyard had undergone was phenomenal. Rosalie felt her mouth fall open in wonder as she let her eyes take in the flowers and candles and silk ribbons and the romantic white canopy that had been erected to form something of a marquee for the party.

“Woodland paradise,” She murmured as she looked around, remembering her conversation with Ron from a couple of days before. 

Garlands of beautiful flowers—clearly Professor Sprouts handiwork—were looped around the lower edge of the canopy lusciously in blooms of whites, creams and purples; bows of silver silk woven throughout them artistically. Gauzy drapes made up the walls of the marquee lending a romantic feel to the atmosphere around them, and hundreds of beautiful floating candles lit up the area in a warm glow.

It looked magical. 

Perfect.

A warm summer breeze blew gently through the marquee and a soft scattering of petals, drifted in on it, twisting and looping their way to the ground like snowflakes around the feet of the guests who were beginning to gather inside around the refreshment table. She felt her spirits lift somewhat despite her unease over celebrating a wedding when she felt like she should be out doing something, like hunting Voldemort’s horcruxes. She felt like they were running out of time; like every lost hour was an hour closer to Voldemort coming after her before she was ready and before they’d accomplished the means to kill him. The diary was gone, the gaunt ring still sat on Dumbledore’s blackened fingers, but they were only two out of the seven Voldemort had created! Neither had come easily. Rosalie shuddered at the thought of Dumbledore’s blackened hand. She knew destroying them would be dangerous—the diary had almost killed her back in her second year—and she could still feel the dark energy emanating from Dumbledore’s hand when she was near him. What other dangers did Voldemort’s horcruxes hold? The Headmaster had somehow managed to contain the dark curse to his fingers alone, but it was still active within him and she wondered if it was very painful. He looked tired a lot of the time nowadays—older. If there were still five to go, could they afford to keep paying the price for each bit of Voldemort’s soul they destroyed?

Rosalie sighed. Thinking of the Headmaster, as always, inevitably lead her to thoughts of their aborted journey out to Voldemort’s cave at the end of the last school term. Rosalie kept thinking that he’d have called on her by now to make the trip out to the cave. She kept expecting him to show up at Grimmauld Place and tell her it was time, but he hadn’t come and she wondered if perhaps he was being spread too thin by the vast number of responsibilities he took on. Surely even Albus Dumbledore had his limits. He was the face of the Light, the leader of the resistance; he coordinated every ones comings and goings and seemed to be fighting a daily battle with the Ministry to keep things under control. Then there was Hogwarts, a place she knew he’d never willingly neglect. She knew Professor McGonagall helped with the running of the school where she could, but the reinstating of the wards could only be done by a Headmaster...

Rosalie sighed again, frustrated this time. She was a fully trained witch now, capable of using her magic outside of Hogwarts wards without the underage magic trace locating her and alerting the Ministry. It was her job—her destiny—to defeat Voldemort or die trying and she knew that the hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes was therefore her battle. Perhaps it was time she took it on and took charge of the assignment, she thought absently? Perhaps she could push on where she and Dumbledore had left off without the Headmaster’s help? Perhaps Snape— 

“I can’t believe my brother is married!” Ron exclaimed happily as he came to stand beside her.

Rosalie looked up at him, her thoughts sufficiently derailed as her best friend’s sudden appearance startled her back into the present and for a second she had to remind herself where she was. The Burrow. Wedding. Right.Her brain hastened to catch up to the flow of conversation. She couldn’t believe Fleur was now a Weasley! It seemed an odd fit, yet somehow it worked and the young couple were practically glowing with love and happiness over their newly married state. So was Mrs. Wealsey for that fact, no doubt imaging the grandbabies they would one day give her.

“Yeah,” she agreed absently, offering her friend a small smile.

Ron frowned, “What’s up?”

Rosalie shot him a surprised look at his unexpected show of perceptiveness, “Nothing’s up. Just thinking about, well...you know what.” 

Ron frowned at her, “No. Not tonight. Tonight we’re celebrating my brother’s wedding. There is no war, no You-Know-Who gunning for us and no stupid hunt for his stupid you-know-what’s.”

“Ron,” Rosalie started her voice full of censure.

“No,” Ron reiterated again more firmly, “Just, no. Everyone is here tonight, Rose. _Celebrating_. This could be the very last time in a long time we have anything like this to rejoice over. Hell, this could be the last time some of us even see one another. So, no, alright? We’re not going to think about that tonight. Tomorrow we go to Hogwarts and fingers-crossed we find a you-know-what, but until then, we’re going to stop thinking, relax and have a good time.”

Rosalie stared at her friend in shock, taken aback by his determination to simply ignore the war and everything related to it for one night. Could she even do that? Could anyone? Yes, she realised as she looked around. Apparently they could. Every single one of the people she loved most in the world was there that night, laughing and dancing, seemingly carefree or at least pretending to be so. Or perhaps it was more than it simply appeared to be? Perhaps all this joy and celebration was nothing more than a release of pent up energy. All the stress, worry and anxiety they all felt channelled into something else—dancing and celebrating—in an attempt to purge it from their bodies the only way they knew how, the only way they could, if only for a couple of hours. 

Rosalie looked back at Ron slowly and nodded. She would at least try, if only for Ron’s benefit.

Ron nodded once in return and then promptly changed the topic.

“So, what’s up with Snape tonight?” He groused unexpectedly, shooting a filthy looking glare over her shoulder at the man in question, “Every time I turn around he’s _staring_ at you. What’s he so interested in?”

Rosalie shrugged thinking back to that morning and the state he’d been in. You wouldn’t know it had ever happened to look at him now—magic truly was a wonderful thing. She thought, perhaps he was angry with her for taking such liberties with him? Maybe she’d crossed some invisible line or assumed too much of their slowly evolving relationship? She could feel his gaze boring into her back even as she contemplated his possible anger. Only, the weight of his attention didn’t feel angry, simply...intense, or perhaps focused. 

“I don’t know,” She told Ron truthfully, darting a glace over her shoulder at Snape who, true to Ron’s word, was staring at her with intensity, “I hadn’t noticed until you said anything.”

Ron nodded, “Well he is, and he was doing it last night too. Before he left, that is.”

Rosalie gave Ron a look, “He is technically my bodyguard, you know. Remus too. He’s probably just looking out for me.”

Ron shot her a dark glare but said nothing.

“Where’s Hermione?” She asked suddenly, changing the topic before Ron could work himself up over Snape.

“Dancing,” He told her shortly, though Rosalie didn’t think his tone was due to anything she’d done, “With _Marcel_.”

Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up with a small grin, “Marcel? Who might that be?”

“He’s one of Fleur’s cousins,” Ron explained in a disgruntled kind of tone, “He’s French.”

Rosalie chuckled, “You sound jealous.”

The speed with which Ron’s head shot around to stare at her was alarming, and Rosalie felt herself take an involuntary step backwards at the abruptness of it. 

“What!? No! I’m not jealous!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as he stared at her with something akin to horror, “Why would you think that?”

Rosalie shrugged casually, eyeing him as she contemplated the ferocity of his response, “I thought you might have a thing for Hermione. I mean, you hated Krum when she was kind of seeing him in our fourth year and you certainly _sounded_ jealous of this Marcel guy. I just thought...”

Ron was shaking his head vigorously, “I don’t _like_ Hermione. Not like that! I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that!”

Rosalie laughed, holding a placating hand up, “Okay, okay! Whatever you say!”

“No, you don’t understand,” Ron told her earnestly, “Rose...It’s not Hermione that I—”

“Rosalie!”

Ron’s eyes grew desperate as he glanced over her shoulder at the voice who’d called out her name and he reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to anchor her to him physically even as her attention had already left him.

“Oliver!” Rosalie replied, a surprised grin breaking out across her face as she turned to find her old Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, striding towards them with purpose, “How are you?”

Oliver pulled her into a friendly—if a little unexpected—hug with a grin. Beside her Ron’s face turned nearly purple as he seemed to swallow his own words.

“I’m good,” He replied honestly before turning to nod at Ron in greeting, “Weasley, how’s things? Don’t mind if I steal her for a bit do you?”

Ron spluttered behind them as Oliver pulled her out into his arms, not waiting for Ron’s response as he guided her out onto the dance floor.

“You still playing Quidditch?” She asked as he twirled her with surprising skill and grace.

Oliver nodded, “I’m playing in the reserves for Puddlemere. With any luck this war will all be over soon and I might make it into second string in a year’s time or so. This thing with You-Know-Who’s been bloody inconvenient. The whole team’s been grounded until it’s safe to be out practicing again. But it takes time to work your way up the ranks, you know, so the quicker we can be back practicing the better.”

Rosalie felt something uncomfortable rise within her as he bemoaned the ‘inconvenience’ the war had caused him and his Quidditch schedule but forced herself to nod politely. Not everyone was in the thick of things as she was after all, she reminded herself ruefully. Perhaps it was just Oliver’s way of coping. 

“Don’t think you could help with that at all, could you?” He chuckled.

“With what? The war?” She asked, her tone coming out a little more clipped than she’d intended it to.

Oliver laughed, “Just kidding, of course. I don’t mind being in the reserves, it’ll be worth it in the long run. But I want to be on the main team, though. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” She agreed, though with far less enthusiasm.

“I knew you’d know what I was on about,” Oliver told her with a crooked grin, before spinning her away from him and back in again. Rosalie went through the motions politely. She didn’t ‘know’. Not really. While she’d always enjoyed playing, Quidditch wasn’t the be all and end all of life to her like it clearly was to Oliver. It was a game, for Merlin’s sake! How could she even begin to imagine spending all her time focused on playing a game when she had a Dark Lord to kill and a war to win? Quidditch was a distant memory, a childhood game—ridiculous. Oliver seemed ridiculous. It was hard to imagine him as the boy she’d once looked up to, or perhaps it was simply hard to imagine herself looking up to the boy he still was. Rosalie knew she was being unfair on him. She was letting something get to her that shouldn’t even matter. What did she care if Oliver occupied himself with thoughts of Quidditch while a war was being waged? It had no impact on her and yet she couldn’t deny her irritation. Or perhaps it was jealousy?

“What about you? Do you still play?” He asked her with enthusiasm.

Rosalie gave him a look, “I, ah... don’t really have the time anymore... you know? I haven’t played much—or at all really—since Umbridge put that lifetime Quidditch ban on me in my fifth year. There’s too much going on at the moment anyway.”

Oliver nodded, though he didn’t really seem that much interested in non-Quidditch related talk, “Shame that.”

“Hmm,” She agreed half-heartedly, “Um, excuse me. I should probably—”

Rosalie started as a loud explosion rattled the ground beneath their feet and sent a shock wave of gasps and screams of fright rippling out over the party. 

“What was that?” Oliver asked nervously, his grip on her hand going tight as he went still, eyes darting around them skittishly. Rosalie looked at him, the colour draining out of his face in fear as he stared off at something over her shoulder and she had a brief moment to wonder why she always seemed to have her back to the action whenever the shit hit the fan. There was a wash of murmurs and startled gasps working their way over the crowd of people at the reception and Rosalie knew something was about to go very, very wrong.

“Death Eaters,” someone croaked out hoarsely and Oliver’s head whipped around to stare at them in fear.

“What?” He asked, his voice trembling.

“Death Eaters!” someone screamed and suddenly the world around her dissolved into a wash of screams, shoving hands and panic as the crowd surged around her en masse. Rosalie gasped and cried out in pain as someone trampled over her foot as the crowd began to herd themselves, like cattle, to the point in the yard furthest from that of the menacing cloaked figures that had appeared in the night. Rosalie shook Oliver’s hands off, scowling at him darkly when he made to grab at her again in fear.

“Let go,” she snarled, before spinning around to face away from him; to face into the oncoming throng as she tried to figure out what was going on. She could see the orange glow of fire in the distance over the heads of the people fighting against her to get inside the house and just _away_ from whatever was happening.

“It’s alright!” Arthur Weasley’s voice could be heard ringing out over the growing chorus of frightened screams and raised voices, “They cannot breach the wards! Please....try and remain calm!”

Rosalie’s hand whipped out to steady herself as another explosion unsteadied her feet.

“Rose!” 

Rosalie’s head darted up at the sound of Hermione’s voice and she could see the bushy-haired witch pushing her way through the crush of people bottlenecking at the Weasley’s backdoor.

“Hermione!” she called back.

Hermione grasped her arm as she made it to her side and together the two girls shared a look. Silhouetted by the flames was a small group of hooded figures standing ominously at the fire’s edge moving like wraiths towards the boundaries of the property.

“Oh Merlin!” Hermione whispered as she counted the number of hooded figures moving towards them.

There were at least nine of them, possibly more; enough to cause plenty of damage on one of Voldemort’s smaller raids and more than enough to take a sizable chuck out of Bill and Fleur’s wedding guests should things go badly.

“Oh Merlin, Rose!” Hermione repeated again.

“It’s alright, ‘Mione,” Rosalie told her gently, taking her friends hand up in her own, “They can’t breach the boundaries of the wards.”

“No,” Hermione replied urgently, Look!”

Rosalie frowned and let her gaze follow to where her friend was pointing. She felt her stomach lurch violently.

“They’ve got _muggles_ ,” Hermione whispered.

As if to punctuate her statement a bone chilling scream suddenly tore through the night air around them. One or two of the party guests followed suit in sheer terror, their mournful wailing interspersed with wet sounding sobs as they dissolved into tears around them, but Rosalie’s gaze was fixed on the muggle woman, naked and beaten, lying on the ground at the feet of the Death Eater taking point, her back unnaturally arched off of the ground and her arms and legs locked in contracted pain as she was held under the Cruciatus. 

Hermione had her hands clamped tightly over her ears in fright, “Make it stop. Please.”

Rosalie wasn’t sure who she was talking to, only that she sounded as shaken as Rosalie had ever heard her.

“Rose! Hermione!”

Ron was racing towards them, Rosalie turned to face her friend—he looked deathly pale and his eyes just that little too wide. For a second his attention was caught by the gruesome display before them and his step faltered. 

“Bloody hell,” he whispered roughly.

The screams strangled and filled with pain, and already fading as the muggle’s voice went hoarse and Rosalie felt herself shiver with disgust. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Why was everyone just standing there watching this display?

“Ron?” Hermione asked, turning shakily away from the scene before them.

“The Order is going out to meet them,” Ron told them breathlessly, “Snape thinks they’ve come for you, Rose, but apparently You-Know-Who gave no orders for an attack—at least not one he told Snape about.”

Rosalie’s jaw tightened, she could hear the faint sounds of the Death Eaters’ jeering and laughter even from their distance as they taunted the helpless muggles they held captive. She could hear the familiar high-pitched, insane cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange and her shrieks of delight now and then and knew that someone was likely suffering for her delight. She looked back at the dark forms of the Death Eaters, closer now as they drew nearer to the edge of the wards. She could see the form of a little boy, no more than three or four, naked but for the metal collar locked around his neck which connected a heavy metal-link chain. A Death Eater—Bellatrix she thought—had the other end of the chain, tugging on it harshly and cackling with delight as he stumbled and fell. The boy was dirty and bleeding. Crying woefully as he was dragged along the ground face first. In that moment she hated Bellatrix Lestrange more than even Voldemort and she felt something inside her snap.

Rosalie was still frozen to her spot as all hell broke loose outside the wards. Spells started flying as the Order went out to meet the Death Eaters head on giving back just as good as they got. A flash of red illuminated Remus’ face as he faced off with the man who had been torturing the young muggle woman under Cruciatus and Rosalie felt a sick kind of pleasure lance through her as Remus landed a blow, knocking the man back on his feet and breaking his hold on the curse. The woman fell silent, twitching uselessly on the ground as the two wizards above her began to duel viciously. Rosalie could still hear the child’s cries, his whimpers slicing through the sounds of the battle like a knife through butter and straight into her heart as Bellatrix yanked him about through the midst of the conflict. 

“Rose!”

Her feet were moving before she was fully conscious of having made the decision. She heard Ron and Hermione thundering along behind her, calling out her name and yelling at her to stop but she ignored them, her mind totally focused on bringing down Bellatrix Lestrange. She hurtled through the protective wards, the high heels on her feet barely even slowing her down as she raced forwards her wand up and at the ready to cast the first curse that came to mind—

“ _Sectumsempra_!” She screamed furiously with a violent swish of her arm as she stared unflinchingly down the length of her wand at the woman who was taking pleasure from torturing a child, at the woman who had killed Sirius! 

Bellatrix turned at the last second, managing to deflect the worst of the impact, but Rosalie was darkly satisfied at the spray of blood the arched up out from the long slice that tore through the witch’s shoulder. Reflexively Bellatrix dropped the chain connecting to the boy, her free arm flying to the deep laceration on her shoulder. 

Rosalie dashed over to the child as Bellatrix shrieked in outrage.

“You bitch!” Bellatrix snarled, furious one second and amused the next as she let out an insane little cackle, “Baby Potter’s all grown up! Dark magic! It feels good, doesn’t it, lovely?”

Rosalie sneered at her cooing, needling tone, feeling her stomach roll as the insane witch pulled her hand back from the deep wound on her shoulder to lick lewdly at the blood on her palm.

“You hurt me, Potter,” she whinged in a baby like tone, though there was a vicious gleam of excitement in her eyes.

“I aimed to do more than hurt you, you bitch,” Rosalie snarled, standing protectively over the boy.

Bellatrix laughed, “You want to play, Potty? What a shame you still don’t understand the rules— _Diffindo!_ ”

Rosalie was ready for her, erecting a basic shielding charm with ease, “ _Protego!_ _Confringo!_ ” 

Bellatrix batted aside the curse easily, “ _Crucio!_ ”

“ _Declino!_ ” Rosalie screamed throwing everything she had into the return curse, watching as it hurtled towards Bellatrix with alarming speed to strike her dead in the chest.

For a split second shock registered in Bellatrix’s eyes before she crumpled to the ground, twitching and screaming under her own curse, deflected back on her twofold. Rosalie stared down at her, chest heaving from exertion as she watched Bellatrix scream and cry and tug and pull at her hair as her body warped itself into unnatural positions in an attempt to escape the pain. The sight didn’t move her. It didn’t make her feel anything. 

“Rosalie!”

Rosalie looked up as someone yelled her name in warning, but it was too late. Hands like steel locked themselves around her arms, pinning them behind her with an almost unnatural strength as she was yanked backwards into someone’s chest.

“Yes, Rosalie,” A smooth voice cooed in her ear tauntingly, “Watch out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has read, liked, bookmarked and commented on my story so far! I love reading your comments and knowing what your thoughts are! I appreciate all your support and I am glad that your enjoying the journey I'm taking Snape and Rosalie on as much as I am enjoying writing it. I also wanted to apologise again for any grammatical or spelling errors that pop up along the way, as I have mentioned previously, this story is currently unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thanks!  
> Quill


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

Chapter Ten

There had been a time once, when Severus had counted Lucius Malfoy as one of his friends. The blond had been a year or two ahead of him in school, popular among his peers, powerful and leading a seemingly gifted life in Severus’ eyes. He could still remember the thrill it had given him when Lucius had shown an interest in his little potion experiments, the older boy paying him the credit and time of day that Severus had then felt he deserved. The very notion that someone like Lucius Malfoy, a wizard from a wealthy aristocratic family, could believe someone like a Snape was worth of his time had been a heady feeling. It had seemed at the time, for the first time in his life, something was finally going right and he was finally getting somewhere. Becoming _someone_.

Friendship had blossomed quickly and dizzyingly between them and Severus had allowed himself to be uncharacteristically swept away with it. He had idolized Lucius and though he knew now that Lucius had no doubt approached him under his Lord’s orders, their friendship—for a time—had been real. Real enough for Severus to allow himself to led blindly into the service of a madman, truly _believing_ it was what he wanted in life and real enough for him to be named godfather to Lucius' heir and only son, Draco. It hadn’t been strong enough, however, to keep them rigid in the face of the atrocities they had been expected to commit in their Lord’s name—a challenge Severus had baulked at and Lucius had risen to willingly. He should have seen it then, the darkness that plagued his friend like a sickness, but in truth it took him years to come to terms with what he was seeing—who he was seeing: the real Lucius Malfoy, or at least a facet of the person Severus knew, but had never been shown before. It was a facet of his friend that had a wicked, cruel streak and a taste for torturing others; it was power hungry and driven to excel no matter the cost.

Over time Lucius learnt to cultivate that behaviour, encouraged as he was by the Dark Lord, until his cruelty and sick predilection for unwillingness in his ‘sexual partners’ had become common knowledge among Death Eater ranks, applauded even, though those outside their circles remained oblivious to his activities—a necessary measure to maintain Lucius' reputation at the Ministry and throughout the Wizarding World.

His obsession with Rosalie Potter, while newer, was apparently no less intoxicating to the man’s needs, and it was with a sick kind of knowledge that Severus realised Lucius held the means to satisfy both tastes in his arms before him.

Severus watched from the shadows, careful to remain unseen, as Potter cringed away from Lucius as much as she able to from within his grasp. Her body was arched outwards, struggling with futility as Lucius lowered his face to her ear, his nose pressing into the silk of her hair in a parody of intimacy causing Potter to stiffen momentarily in his grasp. Something poisonous seemed to flood Severus’ stomach at the sight, a feeling only expounded on as the Lucius allowed his tongue to dart out and trace up the warm, exposed skin of Potter’s neck.

Severus’ wand dropped into his hand before he’d consciously made the decision to do so, a curse that would leave Lucius Malfoy more than simply incapacitated already forming on his lips as anger began to fester beneath the surface of his skin. To hell with maintaining his cover, he couldn’t simply stand by and watch his one time friend degrade Potter in such a way! He wouldn’t! And where the fuck was Lupin, her other so called bodyguard?

For a moment Severus was taken aback by the unexpectedness of the emotions bubbling up inside of him. It wasn’t like he’d never felt anger before, it just wasn’t a common emotion for him to experience. Irritation, frustration, annoyance, disdain, scorn and occasionally even hate, he was no stranger to; but, anger? To get angry over something—more importantly, in defence of something—you had to care, and there were few things he’d ever truly cared about in his life. Most of them women, he thought ruefully: his mother, Lily...and now, apparently, Potter. He cared about Potter, he mused, though he couldn’t begin to wonder how that was even possible.

She was struggling against Lucius’ hold, her legs kicking out at her attacker as she fought against him like a wild animal.

“ _Confundus!_ ” 

Lucius hissed the curse through clenched teeth, his wand jammed into the soft skin of Potter’s temple and for a moment her struggles lost rhythm and calmed slightly as the charm took effect. A blank look settled over her face and Lucius smiled menacingly. She was still opposing him, but the confusion charm he’d cast on her had muddled her thoughts enough to calm her attack somewhat which had been his goal, no doubt. He dragged her with him—easily now—into the shadows of a nearby patch of wilderness amidst the commotion raging around them and Severus quickly followed, careful to remain hidden from sight. Lucius’ hands were on her, Potter’s skirt hiked up on one side so that the frill of black lace underpants was exposed as his hands wandered beneath the green silk of her dress and a rage unlike anything Severus ever felt came over him. 

His spell hit dead on its mark making Lucius stumble and lose his grip on Potter as the whiplash hex struck. The skin along one side of his neck split open with a pray of blood as if struck by a whip and Lucius’ free hand flew to the wound. Glacial eyes shot up to glare into the night, his gaze darting around for his attacker even as his captive tore herself free of his grasp, pushing down her skirt as she stumbled away from him to snatch her wand, which she’d lost in the initial struggle.

“ _Reducto!_ ” Potter snarled angrily through her dazed expression, staring down her wand determinedly as she blasted Lucius Malfoy several metres back and into the trunk of a solid looking tree even as she fought against the effects of his Confundus charm.

“Bitch!” Lucius wheezed as he staggered to his feet, blood dripping down the side of his neck to soak into his robes.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

The shout came from several directions and Lucius dropped like a sack of potatoes where he stood. Potter didn’t relax her stance, though it was clear she was finding it difficult to keep her attention fixed on one point as her eyes kept leaving Lucius’ form to trace her surroundings every couple of seconds. She looked fierce, Severus thought—primal, even—with her teeth clenched, eyes dark and chest heaving with the rush of adrenaline she was no doubt experiencing. Her wand remained steady on her attacker, despite the cloudiness that still clung to her and the slight tremor in her hands and Severus couldn’t help but admire her strength of focus. 

Almost immediately Death Eaters began apparating away, leaving their muggle hostages as their ringleader fell and Severus fell back into the shadows watching as Remus Lupin approach Potter hesitantly, guiding her gently to lower her wand and then coaching her to end the Cruciatus that still held Bellatrix captive, writhing on the ground behind her. The night fell silent as the hoarse throaty shrieks of the insane witch abruptly ceased as Potter ended the spell dispassionately, her lip curling as she stared at first Bellatrix Lestrange—now lying unconscious on the floor—and then Lucius Malfoy.

“I’m going home,” She told the wolf without preamble promptly apparated away.

“Rose!—”

Not even a second had passed before Severus followed suit.

He appeared behind her in the training room before she’d taken even a couple of steps. Her face was lined with distress as she whirled face him and then, seeing who it was, turned her back on him again and continued her march towards the door.

“Potter.”

She ignored him.

“Potter!” He growled, starting forward, his long strides eating up the space between them easily to grasp her arm and spin her around to face him.

“What?” She grit out at him.

For a second Severus was lost for words, unsure what had prompted him to follow her in the first place, what he’d intended to achieve by confronting her like this and forcing her to stop for him. Her eyes were blazing as she’d spun to face him again, burning with intensity even filled as they were with the sheen of tears.

“What?” she prompted again when he didn’t immediately respond to her, jostling her arm half-heartedly to try and free herself of his grip.

She was standing close enough to him that he could almost feel the heat emanating from her body even through the thick wool of his robes. Her hair was tousled wildly around her face in silky black snarls, her cheeks were flushed with emotion and unexpectedly he felt something rise within him. Warmth seemed to leech out from his chest and through his body, making his fingertips tingle where they touched her bare skin and his stomach clench. Something in her expression changed as she looked up at him through cloudy eyes and her lips parted minutely. Severus felt his gaze lower to them without his consent, taking in the soft pink flesh of her mouth. 

He was suddenly very conscious of his heart pounding in his chest.

“Rose!?”

Lupin’s voice seemed to cut through him like a knife, shattering the spell that had woven itself around them. Severus took a shocked step back, seemingly returning to himself as he did so and wondered at what the hell he’d been about to do. He looked down at Potter uncomfortably as her head whipped around at the sound of the wolf’s voice, a confused look plastered across her face and Severus felt the expression mirrored in his soul. He let her arm drop from his grip as if she’d burned him and turned his back on her.

“Rose!?” Lupin called again, his voice desperate and worried.

“In here!?” Potter called back, her voice a little unsure making her answer sound like a question. It was obvious she was still suffering the effects of Lucius’ Confundus charm and having trouble keeping up with the play by play of the moment, but Severus had to wonder if he hadn’t been hit himself his behaviour was so unfocused and out of character.

Potter looked back at him nervously and he looked away unwilling to maintain eye contact with her while his own thoughts were in such disarray. He could hear the wolf’s steps echoing dully as he hurried down the hall to their location and knew he couldn’t be there when Lupin arrived. 

Gathering the folds of his robes around him he glanced back at her once briefly and disapparated.

*

Rosalie was finding it hard to focus properly on her thoughts, frustrated by how time seemed to keep jumping ahead of her. One minute she’d been standing alone with Snape, his eyes holding an odd kind of intensity she’d not seen before and the next she was being enfolded in Remus’ arms. She wasn’t even entirely sure how she’d come to be back at Grimmauld Place.

“Are you alright?”

She looked up at Remus’ strained face. His brows were knotted together in the centre of his forehead and his face creased with worry. It was a very complex expression, she pondered absently as she found herself completely unable to prevent herself contemplating the look. His whole face seemed to be involved in creating it: eyes, cheeks, mouth, eyebrows, forehead... The lines were deep and furrowed, like his face was used to pulling such an expression and she thought perhaps that was completely true. Remus looked like a worrier.

“Rose?” The man in question prompted again.

Rosalie blinked up at him in question, trying to recall what his initial question had been and sighing in frustration as she realised she’d allowed her thoughts to wander again.

“Sorry, what?” She asked.

“Are you alright? Malfoy, did he hurt you? Touch you?” Remus asked, practical snarling out Malfoy’s name.

Her mind touched on her memories of the assault, following Remus’ prompt, but everything seemed disjointed and out of order, much like her thoughts at present. She knew she’d been cursed but she couldn’t remember if that had come before or after her memory of Lucius Malfoy’s hands locking her own behind her back, his fingers digging into her wrists with enough pressure to make her drop her wand. She didn’t feel physically hurt, though she remembered struggling with him and his hands sliding across the bare skin of her stomach and thighs.

She felt her cheeks turn hot.

“I don’t....think so?” She replied weakly, somehow turning her response into a question, “Where did Snape go?”

Remus gave her an odd look, “Severus? He isn’t here, Rose.”

Rosalie shook her head, “He was. I’m sure of it—I think.”

Remus took out his wand and cast a quick spell and running it up and down the length of her body.

“Confundus,” he said aloud, as if he was answering an unasked question and somehow his face relaxed.

Rosalie watched as the lines seemed to melt out of his face leaving nothing but faint wrinkles in their place. It made him look years younger. He smiled at her and Rosalie couldn’t help the returning smile that broke out across her face. It made his amber eyes sparkle and the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle in a different way—a better way.

“You had me worried for a minute,” He admitted, pulling her back into a tight embrace, “Are you sure you’re not hurt? I didn’t even realise Malfoy had cornered you until I heard you curse him.”

“I don’t feel hurt,” She replied lamely, her own brows knitting together in concentration. Time seemed to speed ahead of her again then and she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, Remus and the Weasley’s all seated around her, Ron and Hermione to her right as they rehashed the events from the night with one another. There was a cup of tea in her hands that was burning the tender skin of her palms; automatically she loosened her grip.

Ron’s face was as dark as thunder as he argued back and forth with his brothers and Hermione was gazing across at her worriedly.

“Rosalie?” Hermione asked, her tone indicating it wasn’t the first time she’d called Rosalie’s name.

Rosalie made her eyes focus on her best friend’s tense brown eyes, “Yes?”

“It’s alright, you know, if you’re not okay,” Hermione told her softly, a gentle hand moving to grip one of hers, “I wouldn’t be okay after something like that.”

“Something like what?” Rosalie questioned.

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably, shooting a quick look across the table at Remus.

“If someone tried to...touch me. Like _that_. Without my permission, I mean,” She replied uncomfortably, stuttering through her explanation, “We saw what happened.”

Rosalie frowned; she was beginning to think that perhaps she wasn’t reacting the way she ought to be if people kept asking her if she was okay.

“I’m okay, really. He didn’t get the chance to do anything,” Rosalie replied with more certainty than she’d felt since arriving back at Grimmauld Place as the fog in her head cleared somewhat.

Hermione nodded, “I wasn’t sure since we were watching from so far away and you were kind of in the dark. Ron wanted to charge out and save you, but Mrs. Weasley confiscated our wands before we had time to blink. Lucky Snape was there.”

“Snape?” She asked, her curiosity piqued. 

Hermione nodded, “I wasn’t even sure it was him at first, since he was skulking in the shadows for most of the battle. He emerged briefly once the Death Eaters left though, and then I knew for certain. He’s the one who hit Mr. Malfoy with the whiplash hex.”

Rosalie nodded, though the memory was still hazy and disjointed.

“Bloody coward,” Ron muttered bitterly, “Just like a bloody snake to hide away in the shadows to save his own skin.”

“He couldn’t very well step straight out into the heart of the battle and start shooting down Death Eaters left, right and centre, Ron,” Hermione returned with a longsuffering sigh, “He has a cover to maintain! Do you really think You-Know-Who would stop and wait for an explanation once wind of Snape’s ‘defection’ got back to him?” 

Ron rolled his eyes, “Then where did he disappear to so quick?”

‘Here,’ Rosalie answered silently, as the memory of them standing toe to toe in her training room filtered back to her. Snape had followed her back to Grimmauld Place, arriving no more than a heart beat after her own appearance. Her thoughts drifted back over their odd exchange. It had lasted mere seconds with nothing of consequence passing between them in that time, but it had been full of a strange kind of intensity. It was odd seeing Snape’s concern for her displayed so clearly in his actions. He’d beaten even Remus to her side when all things were said and done and it had been Snape—according to Hermione—who’d freed her from Lucius’ Malfoy’s dirty clutches.

She had the strangest urge to smile suddenly, though she knew it would be somehow inappropriate to do so in that moment, and wondered vaguely how long it would take for Lucius’ confusion charm to wear off.

“How should I know?” Hermione argued in response to Ron’s original question, “Perhaps he was _called_?”

“Or perhaps he just skipped out of his own accord so he could go report back to You-Know-Who!” Ron fired back.

Rosalie looked around, waiting for Mrs Weasley to jump down her son’s throat about raising his voice when she realised suddenly that somewhere along the way they’d left the room and it was just the three of them remaining.

Rosalie sighed, “Do we have to have this argument every time his name comes up? Snape is on our side, Ron. End of story.”

Ron’s face flushed red with anger, “End of Story!? You really are confused! Since when are you his biggest fan, Rose?”

“Since I grew up and got over these petty childhood grudges and got to know the man Snape really is,” Rosalie shot back angrily, feeling her cheeks heat up with emotion, “If he was truly a Death Eater he could have hand delivered me to Voldemort a hundred times over by now. His loyalties are with the Light.” 

“You’re wrong,” Ron replied stubbornly, “don’t you think You-Know-Who would have figured out the same if Snape didn’t have a believable reason why? Trust me, when the truth comes out you’re going to wish you’d have listened to me.”

Rosalie just stared at him not voicing the silent ‘ditto’ that was echoing through her thoughts.

“Just you wait,” Ron told her seriously, “Snape’s playing off both sides of the fence to his own benefit, so no matter what happens with this bloody war, he’ll be in a position to come out on top.”

Rosalie sighed and shook her head. She knew where Ron was coming from, she’s had many of the same thoughts herself in the past but she’d been wrong. She’d let her dislike for the man and his unfair treatment of her blind her, it was only over the past year she’d gradually come to see reason. Ron refused to be swayed though.

“Can we please at least agree to disagree on this point and leave it at that?” Rosalie asked tiredly, “I know your thoughts on the matter and you know mine...if I promise to be careful will you try and keep your thoughts to yourself?”

Ron glared at her, “If I’m not looking out for you, who will Rose? The bloody git’s got everyone fooled—especially you! Six months ago you would have laughed yourself stupid if I’d come up to you and told you that in six months time you’d be walking around singing Snape’s praises and claiming the sun shines out of his bloody arse, but here you are!”

“Just listen to yourself! You sound ridiculous, Ron!” Rosalie cried in exasperation, “Don’t you think if Snape was smart enough to have fooled everyone else—including Dumbledore—he’d have fooled you too?”

“Are you calling me stupid?” He growled.

“Are you calling yourself a smarter man than Dumbledore?” Rosalie countered.

“Stop it!” Hermione interjected firmly, “This is stupid! All you are doing is going round and round in circles. Ron, Professor Dumbledore surely has good reason to trust Professor Snape and surely we know that we can trust his judgement if nothing else; but Rosalie, we have a right to worry for you as your friends. Arguing like this isn’t going to change anything and it’s getting us nowhere.”

“Well said, Miss Granger.” 

All three teenagers snapped around at the sound of their Headmaster’s voice as it floated in to greet them from the kitchen doorway. His blue eyes were twinkling as he smiled at them benevolently over the rim of his glasses.

“Professor,” Hermione breathed, her cheeks tinting pink in embarrassment over her impassioned reprimand.

Ron’s face was too was flushed red, though the last vestiges of anger still clung to his expression. 

“I had come to see how you were recovering, Rose,” Dumbledore informed them as he swept further into the room, taking up a seat alongside them at the table, “I am pleased to see, that you are no longer labouring under the effects of Mr. Malfoy’s curse.”

Belatedly, Rosalie felt a heavy tide of mortification sweep through her at the mention of Lucius Malfoy’s name and felt her gaze drop to the table. Merlin, how many people must have witnessed his treatment of her? Witnessed how close he had come, once again, to degrading her body against her will. It had been different before, both with Malfoy’s attempt in the Department of Mysteries and with that nameless Death Eater in her room back at the Dursley’s. There, at least, there had been no audience to her humiliation. Her closest friends, Ron and Hermione, didn’t even know how close she had come to having her body defiled so. Snape, she knew, suspected, but he had nothing more than his suspicions to go on and the topic had never been broached between them. 

“I’m fine,” she replied adamantly, and physically she was. Privately, she couldn’t help but wonder how many more times she was going to need rescuing? Twice in recent weeks she’d been caught unprepared and physically overpowered by men. The first time, admittedly, she had been asleep and there had been little she could have done to change the events that played out at the Dursley’s that night, but tonight, she had let emotion rule her actions and allowed herself to run headlong into danger’s open arms without second thought.

“The child, is he...safe?” She asked quietly. 

“The young boy is fine. He has since been healed, obliviated and returned to his family via Magical Law Enforcement authorities. He will retain no memory of his capture,” Dumbledore replied gently, “As far as the MLE are concerned all the Death Eater’s involved managed to escape tonight. Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, however, were both detained by the Order and have since moved to a secure location.”

“Will they be taken back to Azkaban, sir?” Ron asked.

Dumbledore sighed, “I fear Azkaban would no hold them long, Mr Weasley, now that the Dementors have joined ranks with Voldemort as one of his allies. Regardless, the Ministry is now fraught with those under Voldemort’s control; if they were to be put on trial I doubt they would ever be convicted.”

“Where are they being held then, sir?” Hermione asked.

“Fear not, my dear, they have been moved to a secure location—one of the Order’s safe houses which has the facilities to hold prisoners. They will be kept under surveillance and magic dampening spells until which time they can be released and tried before an unbiased Wizengamot.” 

“I say let them rot,” Ron grumbled angrily.

“Ron!” Hermione snapped. 

“I have always believed that it is a measure of a man how he treats those who have wronged him, Mr Weasley, as it takes a stronger man to forgive than it does to condemn,” Dumbledore chided, his tone sober, but not unkind, “Should we not treat our adversaries with the same compassion and tolerance with which we wish to rebuild our society on?”

Ron flushed, “Yeah, I guess...”

“The right path is not always the clearest path to take, Mr. Weasley, nor the most appealing at times, but nevertheless it is why we have our friends and family—those we trust— there to guide us.” 

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder what it said about her as a person that she was inclined to agree with Ron’s initial statement? It saddened her to think that she might not have the capacity within her to be filled with so much benevolence towards the people that had wronged her.

“Now, is it still your intention to travel to Hogwarts tomorrow to search the Chamber of Secrets?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes.”

“Good,” Dumbledore agreed, “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all to be careful? While the basilisk once contained down there may now be dead thanks to your efforts, Rose, we know nothing of what other secrets may still guard Slytherin’s chamber. Be cautious.”

*

Rosalie knew she should have been focusing on the task ahead of them. Perhaps researching Voldemort’s possible horcrux’s, or the Chamber of Secrets, or focusing on _something_ other than the memory of Lucius Malfoy’s hands against her skin as he’d attempted to molest her in front of the entire Order of the Phoenix.

Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation. Azkaban had done nothing but unhinge the last few tender threads of Lucius Malfoy’s sanity. She felt sick thinking about it. The sheer audacity of such an attempt, the motivation behind it, the mortification...

_‘That’s it, Potter, struggle! It only makes me want you more!’_

The memory of his words and the feel his hot, humid breath against her neck as the wet tepid heat of his tongue slid up the column of her neck made her shudder. Was it her? Something she did? Did she give off some kind of vibe that made men want to degrade her in such a fashion? If it had only happened once, she might have been able to reason out the motivation behind such an attack. Perhaps even if it had only happened twice, and if Lucius Malfoy the sole attacker responsible for both attempts, she could reason off the second attempt as the blonde Death Eater merely ‘finishing what he’d started’. But it had happened _three times_. Three times too many.

She felt dirty.

Her vision blurred as she stared down at the book in front of her until the letters were fuzzy and the lines on the page had duplicated. A fierce ache was building in the back of the throat and she gritted her teeth in frustration as she realised she was about to cry. Merlin, what was wrong with her? All she ever did lately was cry and fall apart over things and she didn’t know when she’d become so weak. 

Her hands curled into fists as she fought to tamper back the tightness in her throat, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. Gasping for air she tried to breathe past the constriction in her throat and chest and bring herself back under control. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t going to do this to her. She wouldn’t let him. He could rot in hell for all she cared, and she just hoped that wherever Dumbledore was holding him was secure—more secure then Azkaban clearly was. 

Rosalie startled violently as she felt a heavy weight descend on her shoulder and shot out of her seat instinctively. It clattered to the ground loudly as she spun around and out from under the weight that held her, her eyes wild and ready.

Rosalie sighed in relief as her gaze came to rest on Snape’s person.

“I apologise. I did not mean to startle you,” Snape told her calmly, his eyes dark and quiet as he assessed her out of character reaction.

“No, its fine...I was just lost in thought,” She replied quickly, embarrassed by her own flightiness as she discreetly put away the wand she hadn’t realised had slipped into her hand and bent down to right her toppled chair, “D-did you want something, sir?”

“I wish to speak with you about your actions tonight,” He continued after a beat.

“My actions?” Rosalie parroted vaguely, her heart still racing from the sudden surge of adrenaline. She swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat and focused her gaze on his. His eyes were a deep navy, she noted abstractly, not the inky black that she’d always taken them for—the thought made her feel lighter, somehow. 

“Your actions,” Snape agreed.

Rosalie looked at him questioningly, noting the frustration that seemed to crease his face as he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. 

“Honestly, Potter, how many times to do you have to run headlong into danger at the risk of your own life, before you realise that do so is detrimental to your continued health and wellbeing? I know such a notion must be difficult for you to grasp, but please, enlighten me as to what you could have possibly hoped to achieve tonight? But no, it was abundantly clear that thought didn’t enter the equation,” He growled his quiet anger mounting with every passing second, “Otherwise you might have also realised that your blatant unhindered use of Dark magic in front of the entire Order would give cause for concern! How foolish of me to believe that you might have learnt your lesson when you cast the same spell at Draco just a couple of months ago. You could have killed her, you realise? Do you really think your conscience could have handled such a stain?” 

“I wasn’t thinking about my _conscience_!” She hissed back, her anger rising quickly in the face of Snape’s own, “Someone had to help the _child_ Bellatrix was torturing, and everyone else seemed too engaged to even notice! You can’t honestly expect me to simply sit by and _watch_ such an atrocity?”

“Yes, I damn well can! Because you are too important to risk losing!” Snape snarled abruptly and with such vehemence that Rosalie snapped her mouth shut, swallowing her barbed retort as he stared at her with dark, glittering eyes. 

“This war cannot be won without you, Potter!” Snape continued after a moment, his tone abrupt and his jaw tight with anger, “What is one child—who I was already moving to assist—when your capture or defeat would mean the destruction of the Light’s resistance and the death of countless others?”

“That’s not me,” she pushed stubbornly shaking her head in denial, though her words seemed somewhat deflated, “I could never sit by and just watch something so monstrous. I won’t!”

“Yes, and they realise that,” He replied, his tone quietly scathing as he moved into her space, crowding in against her until he was looming over her darkly, “They knew _exactly_ what to say and do to have you catapulting yourself from the protection of the Weasley’s wards and into their clutches. You played right into their hands and look at where it got you! You achieved nothing by placing yourself in such danger.”

Rosalie glared weakly up at him, unintimidated by his proximity even as her defences were crumbling down around her. He was right, and he knew she knew it, but she was too proud to back down when she believed so strongly in her reasoning, “No, that’s not true. I—”

“You are a fool!”

Rosalie stiffened as her retort was abruptly aborted by the sudden insistence of Snape’s mouth against hers. Her heart stuttered in shock as their lips melded together seamlessly and it took her brain a couple of beats to catch up, allowing the sudden acute spike of fear to recede, before she realised that Snape was kissing her. 

Snape was kissing her? 

_Merlin!_

Rosalie gasped as her heart thudded into gear again sending a wash of pleasure over her skin and tingling up her spine as she went limp with pleasure. Haltingly—hesitantly—her hands jerked upwards to rest against his face, his neck, his shoulders, before finally fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck fervently. She could hardly think—hardly breathe!—as his mouth slanted fiercely over hers, his smooth dry lips encouraging hers to part beneath his direction. Her heart was pounding out a steady rhythm in her chest, the rush of blood filling her ears with excitement as she melted into his hold willingly. Large hands cupped her face and knotted in her hair, forcing her to tilt her head backwards as she allowed him to take control over her. She’d never been touched so boldly, claimed so self-assuredly and all she seemed able to comprehend was the flushed, trembling mix of emotions that had become her very existence; how utterly and completely Snape _owned_ her in that moment and how she’d never been kissed like this in her life—kissed by a _man_ , and not some nervous, hesitant boy.

Rosalie whimpered as Snape tore himself away from her, the presence of his mouth gone as quickly as it had come and looked up at him in confusion, her green eyes hazy with passion and her lips pleasantly bruised.

“Snape—?”

He swept from the room without a backwards glance, his robes flicking up against the door as he made a quick exit. Rosalie swallowed thickly, her fingertips lifting to palpate bruised lips in confusion. She felt odd and shaky; her skin overly sensitised and flushed with the heat of arousal. 

Had that really just happened? Had she truly just been snogged silly by Severus Snape in the library at Grimmauld Place where Remus could have happened upon them at any moment? Not to mention the horde of Weasley’s and her best friend Hermione who were all staying the night at Grimmauld Place—albeit upstairs, in bed and asleep.

“Dear Merlin,” Rosalie breathed as her cheeks flamed red belatedly and she shot a little glance around the room guiltily, half expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and yell at her, or laugh, or make protest over what they’d just done. 

Snape had kissed her.

She’d kissed Severus Snape.

Unconsciously she licked at her lips which were still tingling in remembrance as a shy, secret little grin pulled at the corners of her mouth hesitantly. Her stomach did a strange little flip of excitement. A shiver of pleasure worked its way over her body goose pimpling her flesh as she stared at the door Snape had disappeared through and wondered idly when their relationship had changed enough for something like this to have even been possible. Just over a year ago she had loathed him unreservedly and now... well, she didn’t know where they stood, but it seemed a world away from where they’d come. He was one of the most important people in her life.

Rosalie gingerly sat back down at the desk she’d been seated at when it was clear Snape wasn’t going to be returning to finish what they’d started any time soon. Strange how different it was to receive such attention from Snape, compared to what had been forced upon her by Lucius Malfoy. Snape’s kiss had been rough and passionate, yet once she’d moved past the initial shock, she’d felt no fear from his forthrightness. It was hard to believe that both events had happened on the same night. It seemed like an age ago that she had left the wedding and escaped Malfoy’s unwanted advances. She knew a part of that was due to the confusion charm she’d been under, but part of it was also because so much had happened in the last few hours that the light-heartedness of the wedding seemed like it had been and gone days prior. 

“Rose?”

Rosalie’s head shot up as Hermione’s sleepy voice called to her from the doorway. Her best friend was watching her through sleep bleary eyes that were squinted against the harshness of the library’s light.

“Mione! What are you doing awake? I’m not keeping you up somehow, am I?” Rosalie asked as she took in her friends sleep rumpled appearance guiltily. 

Hermione shook her head as she made her way further into the room, “No. I just woke up and when I noticed that you weren’t there I thought I’d come see if you’re okay, given everything that’s happened tonight...Are you alright? You look...odd.”

Rosalie blushed a little, “I’m fine. I’ve just been trying to do some reading, mostly though I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

Rosalie shrugged, “This and that... Nothing important.”

Hermione glanced down at the book that still sat open on the desk, her eyes scanning the text with practiced speed, “Dark Arts?”

Rosalie nodded and looked down at the book on the table, “I found it buried down the back of one of the bookshelves...I’m not all that far into it yet. Just a couple of pages really, but it makes reference to Horcruxes.”

Hermione nodded, “I’ve read one or two of the same. They are all frustratingly uninformative and I hate that we have nothing to work from but the bare minimum! It is so...infuriating! I’ve never had so little to work from! How are we meant to find anything when we don’t even know how they’re made, we don’t know how to safely destroy them, and we don’t know what they are remotely capable of?!”

Rosalie nodded absently, “Well I destroyed the diary without any repercussions—nothing like Dumbledore’s hand anyway....Maybe that’s something?”

Hermione shrugged, “Perhaps. But the two events were so different; the key factor could have been any number of things... It makes me worry about what will happen when we finally come across the next one, you know? What if we find one in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“We’ll be careful, Hermione, and Dumbledore clearly trusts us to be as well, either that or he is convinced that we won’t find anything of use down there. We’d never be allowed to go alone otherwise, you know that...”

Hermione nodded and shot her friend a wry smile, “Yes, but trouble has a way of finding you in the most unlikely of places, Rose, I know _that_ too.”

Rosalie grinned, “Shut up, ‘Mione, anyone would think I was a bad omen!”


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Eleven**

“Remember this, Rose?” Ron asked, bumping her shoulder playfully with his.

Rosalie frowned. 

“Of course,” She replied as she looked down into the gaping maw that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. How could she forget? It was dark and smelt of damp, mildewed stone—just as she remembered. If she were honest with herself, she would have been able to admit that she hated the thought of returning to the Chamber of Secrets, the place where she’d first met Tom Riddle: the young man who would become Lord Voldemort. She’d had nightmares for weeks following that ordeal, most of them featuring the giant basilisk that had almost killed her. Not even her Uncle’s threats of violence had been able to prevent her waking up in the middle of the night with a scream choking in her throat. She wasn’t likely to forget this place for the rest of her life.

Rosalie rubbed at her upper arm in remembrance, at the spot that still held the barest remnants of a pale pink shiny looking scar from where the basilisk’s fang had pierced her flesh. Would the snake’s carcass have decomposed by now? It had been just over four years, after all, what would be left?

“How do we get down?” Hermione asked, turning inquiring cautious brown eye on her friend in question. 

“We jump,” Rosalie replied before taking a deep breath and stepping over the ledge to make the plunge.

“Jump?!” Hermione’s voice echoed down after, all shock and outrage.

Rosalie fought against the instinctual scream that threatened to escape her as her stomach flipped wildly and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins making her feel sick with the exhilaration of freefalling a couple of feet before she hit the slide with a dull thud and slid down the rest of the way to relative safety. Behind her, she could hear the shouts of Ron and Hermione as they followed loyally after her.

She couldn’t help but smile at Hermione’s surprised cry of exclamation as the brunette’s feet came to land on the crushed piles of animal skeletons that still littered the floor.

“Urgh!” Hermione muttered, kicking the skull of a rat out from under her feet.

“It’s just like I remember it being,” Ron breathed as he clanked around the dark tunnel that would lead them to the Chamber.

Rosalie felt something inside of her cringe as he shot a blinding smile back at her and it was then that it clicked for her and she realised that Ron was more than a little excited about the ‘adventure’ ahead of them. Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder when that had changed for her? Perhaps when she had lost Sirius at the end of her fifth year? Or maybe even earlier, back at the Triwizard Tournament where she had witnessed Cedric lose his life so needlessly. She knew for a fact that, miraculously, she was still somehow the only one out of the ‘Golden Trio’ who saw the threstrals that pulled Hogwarts carriages and lived in the Forbidden Forrest. She was glad for it, she wouldn’t want it any other way, only sometimes it made her feel years older than two of them and she hated that she could look down on their immaturity in _any_ way. They were still young, immaturity was expected of them! They weren’t supposed to be bitter souls that were world weary insomniacs at seventeen like she was. She was sure the shadows under her eyes were permanently ingrained. She looked haggard. Worn.

“Wands out,” Rosalie warned them already lighting the tip of her own want with a softly spoken incantation.

“Remember, we don’t know what we’re looking for,” Hermione reminded them as she followed Rosalie’s lead, lighting her own wand quickly and glancing around the dank tunnel, “it could be _anything_.”

Rosalie nodded as they started off down the tunnel along the same path that she’d taken all those years ago.

“Look here, Hermione! This is where Lockhart tried to curse us and hit himself instead,” Ron pointed out as they passed the avalanche of rocks.

“You’re lucky he didn’t inadvertently bring the whole tunnel system down around you!” Hermione nodded as she took in the remnants of the scene.

“Yeah, I know!” Ron agreed wholeheartedly, “What he did was bloody stupid if you ask me!”

“We better keep moving,” Rosalie urged, not willing to linger and reminisce, they had a long day ahead of them as it was without drudging up memories of the past.

The trek through the remainder of the tunnel didn’t take long, barely more than a few minutes in total before they were arriving at the main entrance, guarded ever faithfully by Slytherin’s snakes. Ron shivered as she hissed the password to the guardians, yet didn’t hesitate as he immediately stepped into the room behind her. 

“Blood hell!” The redhead breathed in amazement as his eyes widened to take in everything around him. 

Rosalie sighed. 

She was back.

Rosalie let her eyes track over the familiar carving of Salazar Slytherin’s stern looking face. ‘Bloody hell’, indeed! This place held nothing but bad memories, and the dead carcass of the basilisk—looking just the same as it had the day she’d killed it—lying on the floor didn’t help any. Ron let out a low whistle of amazement as his eyes followed her gaze to the dead monster. 

“Oh my gosh, Rose! You killed that?” Hermione exclaimed in disbelief, staring at the huge snake in horror.

Rosalie nodded.

“It’s a miracle your even alive,” Hermione told her, “You were _twelve_!” 

Rosalie shrugged, “It was blind luck. Literally. Fawkes plucked out its eyes.”

“How come it’s still...whole? Shouldn’t it be all rotted by now?” Ron asked awkwardly, referring to the fact that snake looked like it had only just been slain, instead of lying dormant for four years.

Hermione shrugged, “It is possible it’s rotting inside, but....basilisk scales are magically dense and have properties we are yet to fully understand, not to mention they are known to be an extremely strong protective shell in the physical sense. I suppose it’s also possible the scales are responsible for keeping the snake...”

“Fresh?” Rosalie supplied, wrinkling her nose at the beast.

Hermione nodded, “We should harvest what we can from the carcass while we have the chance. The potions ingredients that can be found on a specimen like this are rare and expensive. It would be foolish to pass up such an opportunity.”

Ron shuddered, “You want me to touch that thing?”

Hermione arched her brow at him, “You have a better idea? Rose used a basilisk fang to destroy the first horcrux, for all we know, that’s the key to destroying them all.”

Ron sighed, “Alright, alright.”

Rosalie reached out and let her fingertips slide over the body of the serpent. The scales were cold and silky-smooth beneath her questing fingers. She could almost feel the power still residing in them, humming beneath her fingertips. They were strong, perhaps even more impenetrable than dragon’s hide.

“How do we even go about harvesting the scales?” Rosalie asked.

“With this,” Hermione replied pulling out a wicked looking blade, specifically designed for the safe harvesting of potions materials, “I always come prepared.”

“Anyone would think you were a nerd, if they saw inside that bag, 'Mione,” Ron prodded.

“Lucky for you, I am,” She returned easily before donning her pair of dragon hide gloves and approaching the carcass.

Rosalie drowned out the sound of their bickering as she turned her attention to the spot where Ginny Weasley had lain unconscious, oblivious to the happenings around her—to Voldemort slowly leeching the life out of her and the giant serpent that had emerged from Salazar Slytherin’s...mouth. How could she have forgotten that? Immediately her eyes shot up to the concealed entrance, it was closed once more and she had almost forgotten its existence. It had been such a minor detail in what was otherwise one of the worst nights of her life, that it hadn’t occurred to her till just that moment that it might be significant. Surely if the basilisk was guarding something, then whatever it was it was going to be in there, right? 

The image came clearly to her now and Rosalie mimicked the scene as it played out in her memory. She moved until she was standing before the giant carved face of the Hogwarts founder.

“ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_ " Rosalie hissed out in parseltongue, casting her focus on one of the many carved snake’s around the room to pull her parseltongue forth.

“Rosalie?” Ron called cautiously, hesitancy in his voice born of fear. He _hated_ it when she spoke parseltongue.

The heavy grinding sound of stone moving on stone sounded throughout the room as slowly, Slytherin’s mouth grew wider and wider, his chin dropping down to reveal the secret passageway as she remembered, though this time no serpent flowed from its depths. It struck her as she thought of this, that this was likely the inspiration Voldemort had used when he created his Dark Mark—the ultimate tribute to Salazar Slytherin and an ode to his own ability to converse with snakes.

“Rosalie? How did you...” Hermione began in shock.

“It was such a minor detail, that it completely skipped my mind when we were talking about the Chamber before. I can’t believe I actually forgot it, though. This has got to be it! Don’t you think?” Rosalie asked them hurriedly, gesturing up at the stone steps that led up into a dark tunnel through the opening of the statue’s mouth, “This is where Riddle summoned the basilisk from!”

“You want to go in there?” Ron asked.

“That’s where it’s going to be,” Rosalie insisted, “If Voldemort hid a horcrux anywhere in here, it’s going to be in there and if not, then it’s a pretty good place to start.”

“It could be booby trapped,” Ron hedged.

“I’d expect nothing less, though no doubt the basilisk played a major part in his defences,” Rosalie countered, “and that’s only if anyone even managed to get this far. He _did_ think he was the only living parseltongue in existence, what are the chances anyone who wasn’t would have even found this in the first place?”

“I think you’re right. A secret room inside a secret Chamber? I can’t think of a better place to stash something you don’t want found,” Hermione replied.

Ron sighed, “I guess.” 

Rosalie smiled, “How long till you’re ready to get moving?”

“I’m done,” Hermione replied, packing up her tools and safely packing away her harvest.

“You only took three scales!” Ron cried.

“Ron, think about the times you’ve seen powdered basilisk scales in the potions class room,” Hermione told him, as she stuffed everything back into her rucksack.

“Ahh...?”

Hermione sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at the blank look on his face, “One of these scales, if you sold it, would set you and your family up for life. Three of them would make you almost richer than the Malfoy’s. This stuff is potent. I have more than even Professor Snape could use in several lifetimes.”

“What? Really?” Ron asked, looking back at the basilisk’s carcass with new eyes, filled with hope of a different life—a better life, “It could make me that rich?”

“Yes, but you have to be a registered dealer in order to sell it and it is illegal to sell it in large quantities. The only place we’d be able to sell _this_ is on the black market, and we wouldn’t be able to track where it was going. It’s too dangerous, sorry,” Hermione replied softly.

Ron shrugged.

“S’ok,” he replied before tearing his eyes away from the beast, “Can I at least have some to give to Fred and George?”

“Of course,” Hermione told him, “We’ll all take a scale each. That way fair is fair.”

Rosalie shrugged, though she could help but wonder what Snape would say if she gave him one of the scales. They were almost the size of a small plate, more than ten times the tiny amount of powdered scales that he kept in his private supplies. She felt a faint blush rise up over her cheeks at the thought of him and she pressed her lips together in remembrance as she relived their kiss for perhaps the thousandth time since the night before.

“Perhaps we should take the remaining fang too?” Rosalie suggested suddenly, “It can't hurt to have two.”

Ron looked up at her in surprise, “I thought you wanted to get moving?”

Rosalie shrugged.

Hermione bit her lip, “We _have_ time...”

“Do it,” Ron agreed, “I don’t want to have to come back again.”

Smiling Hermione slipped her gloves back on and pulled out protective eyewear, “It’s possible once we have the tooth out, we may be able to harvest some of the venom as well. It’s highly deadly, so you should move away, Ron, since I’m the only one with protective gloves and eyewear.”

“What if I ruptured it when I killed it?” Rosalie asked, as Ron came to stand beside her and Hermione took hold of the tooth in both hands.

“Then it will have likely all dispersed by now and there will be nothing left to harvest. But you’d have probably noticed if you had since venom would have been flowing everywhere.”

Rosalie nodded.

“This is harder than I thought,” Hermione admitted, as she huffed and strained in an attempt to extract the tooth.

“Why don’t you conjure a chisel and mallet?” Ron called.

“Good idea!” Hermione grinned.

Rosalie chuckled. 

“Who would have thought that this would be how Hermione got her kicks?” She said to Ron, turning to him with a small smile. The redhead wasn’t smiling though; instead there was a pensive, almost melancholy look on his face. It was a far cry from his earlier attitude and abruptly Rosalie felt horrible for thinking him annoying and juvenile.

“Are you okay?”

“I almost don’t care, you know,” Ron said to her quietly.

“About what?” Rosalie asked just as softly.

“About selling those scales on the black market,” He told her frankly, staring into her eyes with his own, his gaze naked and raw. Rosalie swallowed uncomfortably under the directness of that gaze. He’d never looked at her in such a way and it was more than a little unsettling—like he wanted her to see into the depths of his soul; like he wanted her to fix everything. Rosalie was the first to break the eye contact, dropping her gaze and turning her attention back to the serpent that represented something different for all of them.

Ron followed her gaze with his own, “I don’t care that the scales might end up in dark wizards’ hands, if it could mean my family could have a new life. We deserve it.”

“Money isn’t everything, Ron,” Rosalie replied finally, “I have plenty of money, more than I’ll probably ever need or could spend in a life time, but I’d give it all away to have what you have with your family. You might be poor, but you’re happy and you don’t go hungry. The basilisk scales aren’t worth it. Trust me.”

They both looked up again as a loud crack echoed throughout the Chamber and Rosalie was thankful for the interruption.

“I got it!” Hermione cried triumphantly turning to grin up at them with the giant fang clenched in one fist.

“Go Hermione! Good work!” Rosalie cheered.

“There’s no venom left to harvest, though,” The brunette witch called back as she carefully slipped the basilisk fang into a protective bag and back into her rucksack.

“Does it matter? We got the main bits, right?” Ron asked.

Hermione nodded, “This is plenty to work with.”

“Alright, then,” Ron nodded, “I vote we push on, it’s getting late, it’ll be dark out before we make it out of here at the rate we’re going.”

“I agree,” Rosalie added, “Plus we don’t know how long it will take us to explore this tunnel.”

“I’m ready,” Hermione agreed as she made her way up to stand beside them.

Rosalie took a deep breath and turned her gaze onto the dark passage way behind them. 

“Be careful, alright. I’m pretty sure we’re not going to come across anything, but we’ve got no idea where this leads” Rosalie said turning serious eyes on her two best friends.

Ron rolled his eyes, “You’d think you’d have learnt by now, warning us off gets you nowhere, Rose. We’ll be careful. Promise.”

Rosalie held his gaze for moment before huffing a sigh, “Come on, then.”

*

Albus startled as his fireplace turned unexpectedly green in sudden burst of flames and Severus stepped out from within the fire in a swirl of ash and soot.

“Severus, my boy! You about scared me half to death!”

“I have but a moment, Albus,” Severus hastened as he strode further into the room, “Voldemort has tasked myself and a handful of members from his inner circle with scouting the perimeter of the school’s wards. We will be patrolling the Forbidden Forest looking for weaknesses. Potter mentioned coming to Hogwarts today, she and her cohorts—”

“Are safe,” Dumbledore interrupted, “they’re all deep within the bowels of the school combing the Chamber of Secrets for any information left by Tom Riddle in his adolescence.”

Severus eyebrow lifted in question, “The Chamber of Secrets? I know you’re keeping something from me, Albus; something that you’ve got Potter and her friends working on.”

“It’s necessary, Severus.”

Severus nodded, “That’s not the issue, Albus, I more than understand my position. Are they in danger?”

“I would not be sitting here if I believed they were,” Albus assured him. 

Severus held his gaze.

“You have nothing to be concerned about, Severus, I am monitoring them closely,” Albus assured him.

“Perhaps not closely enough, this is Potter we are talking about,” Severus retorted dryly with a heavy sigh, “Unfortunately I don’t have time to discuss this further. I’m expected elsewhere,”

“I must return to Grimmauld Place this afternoon, I will wait to hear from you there,” Albus concluded.

“Make sure you see Potter into the floo before you take your leave, that girl is magnet for trouble and I fear what she is capable of if left up to her own devices,” Severus said as spun on his heel and strode back over to the floo.

Albus chuckled, “Do you really trust me so little, Severus? I am more than capable of keeping Miss Potter and her friends safe. Your concern for her, however, is touching. It pleases me that you’ve managed to put aside your differences so amicably.”

Albus frowned as Severus hesitated, a shadow darkening his features and the hint of a blush staining his cheeks before he visibly seemed to pull himself together.

“I have to go,” he replied.

He was gone before Albus had drawn his next breathe. 

Albus shook his head quietly, Severus’ capacity to care was beyond compare, yet he reserved the honour of it from people so it suspiciously. Yet with Rosalie Potter, Albus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever even made the decision to care for her, or whether it had simply been so from the moment she’d first drawn breath. He imagined that in Severus’s eyes she was Lily’s daughter and her last surviving legacy in this world, how could he not love her? 

Chuckling to himself, Albus looked back down at the paperwork on his desk there was still much to sort through. Hefting an amused sigh, he returned his thoughts to his work.

*

“Does this even lead anywhere? I feel like we’ve been walking for hours!”

“It’s barely been twenty minutes, Ron,” Hermione hissed.

“Yeah! Twenty minutes of damp rock, dirty floors, dead animal skeletons and nothing else! Zilch, Hermione! We’ve found nothing! And we’re not _going_ to find anything ‘cause there’s nothing down here!” He growled back.

“Well there’s no need to yell about it!” She huffed, “Our voices travel enough without you screaming at me!”

Ron glared at her, “I didn’t scream at you.”

“Yes, you—”

“Guys, will you shut up for just one second! Please!” Rosalie hissed at them as she spun around on her heel to glare at them. Both teens turned their hot gazes on her, “Just listen!”

“To what?” Ron asked.

“Shh!” Rosalie chided, moving closer to slap a hand over his mouth in warning. Ron instantly fell still beneath her touch, his eyes wide blue pools as he listened obediently, “Do you hear it?”

“Water...” Hermione breathed out.

“Water.” Rosalie confirmed, dropping her hands from Ron’s face. The three teens continued to listen quietly for a couple of beats before Ron hesitantly put his hand up to speak.

“Ahh...what does that mean exactly?” He asked. 

Rosalie shot him a look, “It means that things are about to change. No more damp rock, dirty floor and animal skeletons. Hear the change in the echo of our voices? I think that means we’re about to come across a large body of water. I can feel the moisture of it in the air.”

Hermione nodded, “Do you think it runs under the school?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m finding it hard to pinpoint our location, or which direction we’ve been walking in. For all I know it could be connected to the school lake.”

“Possibly,” Hermione hedged.

“Well, come on then. Let’s go have a look,” Ron prompted heading off in the direction they could hear the water coming from.

Rosalie followed after him, her ears trained to sound of rushing water as they took off at a jog. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the first sparks of adrenaline began to seep into her bloodstream. Was it possible this was it? Were they actually going to find something? She hadn’t wanted to let herself believe it before now, but she could feel it in her gut, they were heading in the right direction.

“Is it just me or is getting louder?” Ron asked after a couple of minutes when the distant swoosh of water was becoming a steadily growing roar.

“Yes, we’re getting closer,” Hermione nodded. 

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to swim across,” Ron said as he turned sceptical eyes ahead of them.

“It does sound like it’s moving very quickly,” Hermione agreed.

“We don’t even know that we’ll need to,” Rosalie pointed out.

Hermione glanced across at her with worried eyes, “I certainly hope not.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Ron questioned sceptically.

The river was wide and deep, rushing past them rapidly in plumes of white foam and fluid waves completely blocking the way forward. The noise of the rushing water echoed off the deep cavernous walls as the ceiling, which had been barely high enough for Ron to walk through comfortably in the tunnels, but now vaulted upwards dramatically.

“I don’t see where we’re meant to go?” Hermione said they glanced around with wide disbelieving eyes, “There’s nothing on the other side.”

“Maybe this is as far as we’re meant to go?” Ron offered as he shone the light of his lumos upwards with a cautious gaze, “Maybe there’s nothing down here.”

“I think we continue onwards,” Rosalie told them determinedly, “look here.”

She beckoned them over to the river edge to where she was inspecting the cavern’s walls. For the most part they were damp and uninteresting, but right at the water’s edge, there was a small snake carving etched into the stone by hand.

“Do you see it?” She called over the noise of the river.

Hermione nodded, “What do you think it means?”

“Maybe it’s another hidden entrance to something?” Ron pointed out, “Try hissing at it again.”

Rosalie shrugged and followed his advice, unsurprised when nothing seemed to happen. It didn’t have the same hum of magic around it that she’d felt when she’d first found that small snake carving under the sink in the bathroom that housed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It didn’t feel right to her, it didn’t feel like the snake itself had purpose, but rather was put there to simply mark the stone—which would mean there was something nearby that they were meant to find.

Rosalie let her eyes scan the area.

“What’s this here?” Hermione asked.

Rosalie glanced in her direction, “It looks like shadow, but—”

“It’s an alcove!” Hermione cried with a smile, “ _Alohomora!_ ” 

The steps leading upwards were worn and damp, the stone rubbed smooth from years of use. There were only a handful of them leading up onto a small landing, but it was the sign they had been looking for that they were heading in the right direction.

A spike of adrenaline lanced through her.

This was it. They were finally getting somewhere.

Taking the lead, Rosalie shone the light of her wand up the steps as she began the ascent upwards. The sound of the water almost immediately dulled as she stepped through the entrance, and Rosalie spun around on instinct to glance back over her shoulder.

“What?” Hermione gasped, reflexively copying the action, “What is it?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Nothing. Muffling spell.”

Ron gave the staircase a wary look, “This whole thing is giving me the creeps.”

“Shh,” Hermione chided, sending her elbow half heartedly back into the wall of his chest. 

The silence was eerie, nothing but the dull echo of their voices and the inconsistent drip of water on wet stone.

“There’s a door here,” She told them, as she reached the landing.

It was old and wooden, water damaged and slimy with mildew, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that _this_ was the reason behind the Chamber of Secrets. Not the basilisk. Not a chamber built for the sacrificial killing of muggleborn students as some had whispered, but a front to secret-away whatever lay behind this door. 

Rosalie felt her stomach turn over nervously.

“Woah,” Ron breathed.

Rosalie nodded her head soundlessly in agreement.

“Now, this one?” Ron stated with raised eyebrows and a swift nod in the direction of the door, “This one, I reckon you definitely need to be speaking to in parseltongue.”

“No shit,” Rosalie breathed in agreement.

“Is that—?” Hermione began as the wand light lifted to illuminate the door.

“A basilisk,” Rosalie finished.

The carving on the door was not only intricate, but had been painstakingly carved out by careful hands. Each tooth, coil and scale had been carefully crafted and lovingly sanded until the visage of the serpent looked almost real down to the two glittering amber eyes that sat in the dead centre of the door.

Rosalie reached out and ran her hand along the body of the snake as she had earlier to the basilisk’s carcass.

Silky-smooth.

“What did I tell you? Bloody creepy!” Ron shuddered as he gave the carving the hairy eyeball.

“ _Hello?_ ” Rosalie hissed.

Hermione visibly started as the carving seemed to come to life before them, uncoiling its body and turning its head to ‘look’ at them.

“ _Welcome..._ ” The serpent hissed back.

“ _Will you grant us access to the room that you are guarding?_ ” Rosalie hissed at the snake.

The snake’s body rippled as it slithered its way across the door, rearranging its body so that its glittering amber gaze was level with hers.

“ _You need only say the word, Snake Speaker,_ ” it replied.

“ _I don’t know the password,_ ” Rosalie admitted.

The serpent recoiled itself lazily, “ _Then you will not be granted access._ ”

Rosalie sighed.

“What?” Ron asked impatiently.

“We need a password,” Rosalie told them.

“Great!” Ron huffed, “It could be anything! And it’s probably in _Latin_!”

“What do we know about Salazar Slytherin?” Hermione asked, looking at each of them in turn, “Perhaps if we can brainstorm some ideas we might get lucky.”

“He spoke parseltongue,” Rosalie offered.

Ron shrugged, “He left Hogwarts before all the other founders—”

“Because he was a pureblood supremacist...” Hermione added, “He left behind the basilisk to flush the mudbloods out of the school because he felt they didn’t deserve the same education.”

Rosalie nodded, “He was arrogant and believed himself superior.”

“And we know he was secretive,” Ron added readily, “Just look at all this...”

“Paranoid, if you ask me,” Rosalie agreed giving their current location the once over unenthusiastically.

“He wouldn’t have seen it as being paranoid though,” Hermione mused, “No one likes to think of themselves as paranoid...”

“If not paranoid, then what?” Ron asked.

“Careful? Prepared? Mistrustful?” Rosalie supplied.

“Cunning! That’s it, it’s got to be! The sorting hat even lists it as one of Slytherin’s traits!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly, her face and eyes lighting up with triumph.

“That’s it? Just cunning?” Ron asked sceptically.

“Just try it!” Hermione pushed.

Rosalie took a deep breath and nodded her head in agreement, “Okay. In parseltongue?”

Hermione nodded.

“ _Ahh...Cunning?_ ” Rosalie hissed unsurely, “ _Slytherin cunning?_ ”

Nothing happened.

Rosalie slumped dejectedly. Of course, it was never going to be so easy! Salazar Slytherin was intelligent, if nothing else and Slytherin cunning wasn’t exactly the world's best kept secret. Then again, even if you worked out the word, someone would have still had to figure out how to say it in parseltongue if they ever happened across this room in the first place.

“ _Secret!_ ” Rosalie hissed, rolling out the first thing that came to her.

“ _Basilisk!_ ”

“ _Slytherin!_ ”

“ _Salazar Slytherin?_ ”

“ _Open!_ ”

“ _Pureblood!_ ”

All three of them jumped as the bolt in the door clicked open loudly and the door swung inwards. 

“You did it!” Ron cried.

“What was it?” Hermione asked.

“Pureblood,” Rosalie breathed sharing a look with her friend, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Ron snorted.

“Shall we?” He offered, taking a step back and sweeping his hand out towards the door in a gesture for them to pass through.

“Of course,” Hermione groused, “Send the _women_ in first.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped across the threshold boldly and watched as the room around her came alight spontaneously. The fireplace bust into a riot of flames with such violence and ferocity that it looked as if it could have been burning for hours rather than seconds, casting the room in a warm orange glow.

“Did you feel that?” Hermione asked immediately on stepping in behind her.

Rosalie turned to glance at her friend curiously, “What?”

“I think we just passed through a ward, didn’t you feel the tingle of magic on your skin?” She asked.

Ron shrugged, “A place like this is bound to be warded. It’s probably an old protection ward to keep unwanted trespassers out or to alert the old geezer of any intrusion.”

“Probably,” Hermione agreed.

Rosalie let herself wander around the office taking in the rows upon rows of books, ancient tomes of dark magic and spells—magic that had probably been outlawed over time and lost to the generations. So much knowledge! Cautiously she pulled a book from the shelf and cracked it open. The spine creaked with age, the pages thick, yellowed and marked with a spidery scrawl. The book was so old it was handwritten and it was hard to decipher the script, but it was full from cover to cover with potions, rituals and spells. Spells she’d never even heard of or seen before, not that that was saying much, but she was certain even Hermione would be able to claim she’d heard of them...

“Whoa, is that Slytherin’s?” Ron asked as he came to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder at the manuscript.

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply that everything in the room was Slytherin’s when his words took on a deeper meaning. The manuscript was Slytherin’s, written by Salazar Slytherin himself! Could it be? Rosalie looked closer, flipping through the pages curiously. There were corrections and annotations in the margins, alterations in the text, all written in that same spidery scrawl.

Rosalie ran the tips of her fingers over the dried ink.

“Yeah, I think so,” Rosalie replied, a slight tone of awe colouring her voice.

“Let me see,” Hermione said holding her hand out demandingly.

Rosalie and Ron shared a knowing look and passed the book over with a smile. Hermione grabbed it with greedy eyes and began devouring the book with relish. 

“I can’t believe how untouched this place is,” Rosalie noted as she looked around the room. Papers in ordered disarray across the desk, aged brittle looking quill still standing upright in a dried up inkwell, it was like Salazar Slytherin had just stepped out of the room and time had unexpectedly jumped forward.

It was impossible to believe that Tom Riddle had never found this room and meticulously combed through everything that it had to offer. Yet the timelessness of it remained intact. He had preserved Slytherin’s study in its original state. Proof, perhaps, that he’d once cared for something other than himself, his own power and immortality?

“This is unbelievable,” Hermione said absently, reaching out a stray hand to beckon them over without taking her eyes off the text before her.

“What?” Ron prompted, moving to her side. 

“All this time there has been one thing that didn’t make sense to me. How did You-Know-Who even find out about horcruxes in the first place? You said he was brought up in a muggle orphanage, right? An orphanage he returned to every summer once he started at Hogwarts. So where did he get his information from?”

“Slughorn,” Rosalie replied.

“Yes, but you said that Professor Slughorn was reluctant to even mention as much as he did. You-Know-Who would have had to research it further before he _made_ one,” Hermione pointed out, “How did he even know as much as to ask in the first place?”

Rosalie frowned, stumped on her answer, “I don’t know.”

Hermione grinned, “I think, he found _this_.”

Rosalie’s eyebrow shot up as Hermione spun the book around so that the pages were facing them. The heading blazoned across the top of the page in old elegant, jagged-looking script read ‘The Horcrux’.

“We assumed the diary was You-Know-Who’s first Horcrux as it was created while he was still in school. If the diary was created with Moaning Myrtle’s murder then it stands to reason that this could have been the very place the You-Know-Who first read about them...”

“Merlin,” Ron breathed.

“It’s all here,” Hermione continued, “Horcruxes: perhaps the darkest, most evil of magic known to date. It requires a blood sacrifice, dealt by the hand of the caster, in order to sufficiently fracture the soul...”

“Stop.”

Hermione looked up at Rosalie in askance. 

“Not here,” Rosalie whispered. 

Hermione nodded, shutting the book, “Your right. This is good, Rose, this could give us everything that we’ve been looking for in order to deal with them properly.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I say we head back,” Ron put in flicking his head in the direction of the door, “I don’t reckon we’re going to find anything down here. You-Know-Who might be a creep, but I doubt he’s stupid enough to hide a chunk of his soul next to a book outlining everything there is to know about one.”

Rosalie nodded, “I agree.”

Hermione slipped the book into her rucksack, “I want the chance to skim through this tonight, anyway.”

Rosalie glanced around the room one last time, “We should bring Dumbledore down here. There’s a lot of history in this room. History that belongs to Hogwarts.”

“I’m disappointed we didn’t find anything,” Hermione said with a sigh as she went about rearranging her rucksack to accommodate the old tome.

“We’re not walking away completely emptied handed. Dumbledore didn’t seem to think there’d be anything down here anyway—at least, no horcrux’s,” Rosalie pointed out, “Plus who knows what kind of info that book will give us!”

“Yes, that’s at least something,” Hermione replied with enthusiasm, “The lack of available knowledge on the topic has been frustrating.”

“With good reason,” Ron muttered over his shoulder as he turned to make his way back across to the door, “Imagine what the world would be like if this was common knowledge.”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, I agree. I wish I didn’t know half the things I do on this topic.”

“Damn it! Rose, the doors locked itself! Hiss at it again, will you?” Ron asked from across the room, already eager to part ways with the slice of Slytherin’s past they’d found.

“ _Pureblood._ ”

Rosalie frowned when nothing happened.

“Do it again, you must have said it wrong,” Ron prompted. 

Rosalie repeated with the command with no result. The trio shared a wary look.

“Merlin,” Hermione asked looking around, “Are we trapped in here?”

Rosalie shook her head, “There’s got to be another way out. Some secret passage or something... You know what Slytherin’s are like.”

“But _where_?” Hermione asked, looking around the room. No windows, no doors, no tapestries a secret entrance could be hidden behind. The only picture in the room was an imposing looing portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself, hung high above the ornate mantelpiece that framed the fireplace. Thankfully he was sleeping.

“You don’t suppose the fireplace is connected to the floo network do you?” Ron asked hopefully.

“Don’t be silly, Ronald!” Hermione hissed “If you knew anything about our history you’d know that they didn’t _have_ a floo network back in the founder’s era!”

“Well how’d they get around then?” Ron countered.

“They opened and closed individual floo routes, of course!”

Rosalie tried to ignore their bickering as best she could, “Could we maybe do that? Do either of you know the spell we’d need to temporarily connect this fireplace to the floo?”

“Even if we did know, it would be incredibly dangerous! We don’t know how closely the floo network is being monitored, if we accidentally gave someone access to this place...”

“We’d be screwed,” Ron finished.

Hermione nodded, slightly calmer, “For all we know, there could be something in this very room which You-Know-Who is after. The last thing we want is to give him access to it, even temporarily.”

Rosalie sank down into the uncomfortable cushion of Salazar’s chair, letting her eyes move around the room slowly. 

“He would have had to be pretty damn paranoid to build a secret escape tunnel from his secret study which you can only enter if you know his secret snakey password,” Ron said as he too let his gaze drift over the room, “My guess is that it wouldn’t be something obvious, but it would need to be something easily accessible.”

Rosalie nodded, “Something he could get at easily without wasting too much time.”

“Right,” Ron agreed.

“Okay,” Rosalie said, straightening herself up in the chair, “So I’m sitting at my desk, doing whatever it is Salazar Slytherin spends his time doing and I hear someone outside my door trying to get in.”

Hermione stood up and moved to stand in front of the locked study door, “You know the intruder has already made it past your other safe guards, so you know that they’ll break in before long.”

Rosalie nodded playing along, “I need to get out. Quickly. So what do I do?”

“Grab anything of value and run,” Hermione replies, “Slytherin’s value self preservation above all else.”

“The only place big enough to get through is the fireplace,” Ron points out, “An it’s not even four steps away from where you are sitting.”

Rosalie nods standing up and walking the short distance until she was standing before the crackling fire, yet still nothing jumped out at her.

“ _Open_ ,” She hissed.

No one in the room was more shocked that Rosalie when the fire abruptly extinguished its flames and the back wall of the fireplace swung open to reveal a secret passage way.

“It worked?” Rosalie announced in a surprised tone, turning to look back at her friends. 

“I know,” Ron replied, “I sort of can’t believe it, actually.”

“Who cares?” Hermione laughed, “Come on! I don’t want to spend a minute more than we have to trapped down here!”

Grinning, Rosalie chuckled and followed her friend through the door. The minute all three had cleared the doorway the flames burst back into life behind them and the doorway swung shut.

“Merlin! It is pitch black in here,” Ron moaned even as the tip of Hermione’s wand lit up with a muttered incantation.

“Stairs,” Rosalie pointed out in the dim light, as she too lit her own wand.

“I wonder where it leads to?” Ron pondered aloud. 

“It’s hard to know. We’ve travelled through so many different tunnels and secret passages that I’m completely turned about. My guess would be that this exits into the dungeons somewhere, though,” Hermione responded. 

“Well I guess we’re about to find out,” Rosalie said pointing at the door up ahead.

“I hope it’s close to the kitchens, I’m blood starving,” Ron complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“ _Open_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twelve**

It was dark out, the forest drenched in an inky blackness that was almost complete in its intensity. They were so deep under the canopy of trees that Rosalie couldn’t even see the night sky as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. She knew though, without a doubt in her mind exactly where they were: the Forbidden Forest—deeper in than she had ever been before.

“The Forbidden Forest,” Hermione stated softly, echoing Rosalie’s own thoughts.

“It’s dark out already,” Ron replied as he squinted through the night, trying to see beyond the trees.

“ _Lumos!_ ” He incanted, holding out the glow of his wand like a torch before him.

“No,” Hermione hissed, throwing her hand out to lower his wand, “Wait for your eyes to adjust. We’ll see more if we don’t blind ourselves against the darkness. We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”

“You don’t think...” Ron trailed off raising his eyebrows pointedly, “You-Know-Who?”

Rosalie’s eyes cut to her friend, “It’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. I’m almost certain we’ve crossed the wards...”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, although that wasn’t what I was referring to.” 

Ron shuddered, “Oh right. Spiders.”

“Among other things,” Rosalie agreed.

“I say we cut out losses and apparate the hell out of here, now!” Ron told them, unable to keep himself from glancing over his shoulder cautiously and wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. The memory of Aragog had been enough to give the redhead nightmares for weeks following their jaunt into the Forbidden Forest in second year, and Rosalie didn’t blame him in the least. For someone who already had a phobia of spiders, the Acromantula had to be the pinnacle of all those fears combined. All things considered, he’d handled himself well. 

“I agree,” Hermione nodded, “If we’ve passed the wards I see no reason not to.”

“To Grimmauld Place, then?” Rosalie asked, holding out her hands. Ron and Hermione both nodded as they joined hands until they had formed a loose circle. 

“We can floo the Headmaster from there,” Hermione agreed.

Rosalie closed her eyes and waited, allowing Hermione to apparate them as she had earlier in the day. Risalie's eyes flew open again though when instead of experiencing the familiar sensation of being sucked through a tube, her body jarred painfully as the breath was stolen from her lungs.

“Ouch! Merlin ‘Mione!” Ron cried out, yanking back his hand in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I...” Hermione shook her head, “Something is blocking me. We must be within the boundaries of the wards still...” 

“We can’t be,” Rosalie frowned in denial, “I’ve never been this deep into the woods.”

“Maybe Dumbledore extended the boundaries?” Ron offered.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t risk weakening the wards like that after last term.”

“We’ve got to be on Hogwarts grounds then,” Ron pointed out.

Hermione was casting her gaze out around them, as if to try and locate landmarks that would hint to their location. There was nothing to be seen beyond the silhouette of trees and damp undergrowth surrounding them. No light, sound or smell save that of the forest around them. It looked the same in every direction, even the door through which they’d emerged had disappeared into nothingness.

“We should get moving,” Rosalie offered, peering out into the darkness of the woods, her eyes already adjusted to the light, “It’s already dark out, who knows how long it will take for us to find out way back to the castle.”

Hermione nodded, “We can use a ‘point me’ spell to lead us. The Headmaster is probably worried sick.”

Rosalie took the lead, following the direction of Hermione’s wand as they began to trudge through the thick undergrowth of the forest floor. This deep into the woods, there was no carefully worn path to follow and the trees were densely packed. Even in the summer heat it was still damp and cool and Rosalie was regretting her decision to wear a dress that morning as twigs and branches snagged against her legs, scrapping the skin painfully.

“I bloody hate wildlife,” Ron moaned, swiping at an errant branch with his hand angrily to get it out of his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes and Rosalie couldn’t help but smirk in amusement.

“What! There could be spiders everywhere!” Ron groused, slapping at his arm as something brushed against it, “I can’t see a bloody thing in this darkness.”

“Shh,” Hermione hissed at him, “At least be quiet about it, we don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.” 

“Do you hear that?” Rosalie whispered, drawing to an abrupt halt as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Oh very funny,” Ron snarled, rolling his eyes, “I’m not falling for—”

“Shh,” Rosalie hissed, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“What is it?” Hermione whispered as she strained to hear what it was that had put her best friend on alert, “I don’t hear anything.”

Rosalie turned to stare out into the darkness; it felt like something was watching them. Stalking them from the shadows. The sound of a twig snapping had all three spinning around to face the sound. Nothing moved in the darkness, but the sound of muffled voices drifted through the night air to reach them.

“Oh shit,” Ron whispered.

Two pairs of eyes spun around to look at her.

“What do we do? We’ve nowhere to hide!” Hermione gasped.

Rosalie froze as a cold shiver snaked its way down her spine. There was something behind her. 

Someone.

Hermione screamed, loud and shrill and Rosalie spun around with her wand at the ready as Fenrir Greyback lunged at them, grinning wickedly and baring the knife sharp points of his disgusting teeth. His elongated fingernails caught a chunk of her hair, ripping it painfully from her scalp as he tackled her to the ground with his teeth snapping audibly. The air was expelled forcefully from her lungs as she landed with the werewolf’s weight atop of her, wincing as something hard dug painfully into her lower back.

“What’s this? Potter and her bitches,” The werewolf hissed, chuckling as Rosalie used their momentum to toss him off of her and scramble back to her feet.

Greyback was already on his feet, hunched over in front of them like an animal waiting to pounce as Rosalie scuttled back from him. He was holding a clump of her hair in his fist and he grinned menacingly at her as he lifted it to his nose, "you smell good, Girly, like strawberries and virgin."

Ron looked like he was ready to tackle the wolf himself, vengeful rage building up inside of him at an alarming rate as he pushed Hermione behind him and made to confront the wolf that was more beast than man, "Say that again."

Rosalie didn’t give him the chance. 

“ _Reducto!_ ” She hissed at the same time he lunged for them, her voice quiet and controlled as she slashed her wand up at him, sending him hurtling backwards with surprising force. 

His scream was agonising as he landed with unexpected precision onto a protruding tree branch, the limb—as wide as her arm—impaling him through the abdomen with a sickening ease. Rosalie stared at him in gaping horror.

_Merlin_.

Something cold passed over her, goose pimpling her flesh as she realised what she’d inadvertently done.

“Oh God! Merlin!” Hermione gasped, looking like she was about to be sick, “Rose, you—!”

“You fucking BITCH!” Greyback screamed at her in a thunderous growl, his voice cracking and breaking against the pain, “I am going to _rip_ you and you pansy-arse friends to shreds and _feast_ on you!”

Rosalie flinched, taking a step backwards though her gaze remained fixed on the tree branch protruding from the werewolf’s abdomen. 

Ron glared up at the wolf, “I don’t think so, you twat. _Stupefy!_ ”

“Oh God,” Hermione breathed, her eyes fixed on the wolf in horror.

“‘Mione,” Ron interrupted, grabbing her by the hands and forcing her to face him, “You’ve got to shut up. We’ve got to get moving. You can bet he won’t have been alone, and with all the noise we’ve made...”

“He’s right,” Rosalie said, physically pulling herself together and tearing her eyes away from the fixed staring eyes of Greyback’s face. Not dead—not yet—just stunned. Wouldn’t be long though.

“They’re gonna zero in on us like we’re cupcakes to their Crabbe and Goyle,” Ron finished, tugging on Hermione's hands, forcing her feet to stumble forwards. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on the wet, shiny, black-looking liquid that was running down the trunk of the tree. Blood.

“Hermione!” Ron snapped, yanking her around, “It’s nothing he didn’t deserve. He would have done a lot worse to us. Think of Bill. Remus. Think of the all the _children_ he’ll never be able to hurt again. Now _come on_.”

Hermione nodded numbly and started to move.

They ran, plunging through the undergrowth with a speed that couldn’t be quiet, or careful, but put as much distance between them and Greyback as possible. Rosalie could feel her heart hammering in her chest painfully, as she ducked and swerved, refusing to let herself dwell on what had just happened. What she’d done. 

It was an accident.

“How are they inside the wards?” Ron called breathlessly from a pace or two behind her.

“They’re not,” Rosalie yelled back, “They can’t be. There has to have been something else stopping us from apparating.”

“The book!” Hermione gasped suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop. She was panting heavily, the least fit out of the three of them and the least sure of her footing.

“Don’t stop,” Ron growled.

“No, wait!” Hermione yelled back, “We’re obviously not within the wards, so it must be the book. It’s probably charmed to prevent theft. Perhaps if we hide the book we can apparate home.”

Rosalie shook her head, “No. If we lose that book now and Death Eaters get their hands on it, it’s over. Voldemort will know exactly what we’re up to. He’ll know his ‘artefacts’ are at risk and the first thing he’ll do is check to make sure they are secure. We can’t risk that.”

Hermione looked torn, but nodded, "I guess. You're right."

“Great,” Ron replied, “now can we keep moving?”

“Yes, hurry now,” A voice laughed, as a dark figure stepped out in front of them. A woman judging by the tone of her voice, although any distinguishing features were hidden by her Death Eater garb.

“Wouldn’t want to run into any Death Eaters now, would you?” another voice hissed from behind them as a man stepped out, trapping them from both directions.

“The Carrow twins, Alecto and Amycus,” Ron whispered fearfully.

“Oh, heard of us, have you?” the man taunted, “How sweet. We have fans!”

“That was a wonderfully nasty thing to have done to our dog,” Alecto told them delightedly, “the Dark Lord won’t be happy to hear what you’ve done to him—impressive work for supposedly _Light_ wizards.”

Rosalie ignored her mocking tone, determined not to let their words affect her until she had time to stop and process it properly. Which she would. Just...later.

‘Don’t shut down. Keep moving,’ she told herself stubbornly.

“If you’re not careful, you might end up the same way,” Rosalie hissed, letting her wand drop into her hand discreetly.

The duo laughed mockingly.

“Give it your best shot, Princess,” The man challenged tauntingly, like he didn’t really believe they could best them.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Ron shouted without warning, shooting off a disarming spell at Alecto, which the woman deflected easily.

She laughed, “Is that all you’ve—”

“ _Diffindo!_ ” Rosalie incanted, cutting her mocking laughter off mid-sentence with a severing hex, smiling with grim satisfaction as it split open Alecto’s upper arm, tearing through her robes to bite deep into the meaty flesh.

The Death Eater shrieked in outrage.

“You bitch!” Amycus hissed in fury on his sister’s behalf, “ _Crucio!_ ”

“ _Declino!_ ” Rosalie returned, sending the spell whizzing back at him.

Behind her she hear Hermione casting a leg-locker curse on Alecto, followed quickly by Ron’s stunning spell taking the witch down with surprising ease.

“ _Finite!_ ” Rosalie spoke, ending the Cruciatus on Amycus that had been aimed at her. The man moaned, lying in a heap on the forest floor, still twitching under the remnants of his own curse.

“You need to teach me that spell,” Ron stated, his tone of voice clearly impressed.

“He’s still moving,” Hermione pointed out hesitantly.

“Of course he is,” Ron replied, “It’s not like he’s dead.”

Rosalie walked over to him and nudged him with her foot to get his attention.

“How many of you are here?” She hissed.

Amycus glared at her, his eyes skimming across to his sister lying bound, stunned and bleeding on the forest floor. Sneering up at her, he spat a glob of blood at her. It landed at her feet.

“Answer me,” Rosalie insisted, levelling her wand on him.

Amycus snarled at her, but opened his mouth to respond.

“ _Morsmordre!_ ” he cried gleefully.

Rosalie hissed in surprise as a stream of green light shot up over her shoulder and into the night sky, illuminating the area in a sickly green glow.

“No!” Hermione gasped as the Dark Mark began to form overhead, notifying everyone in the area to their location. A crack of apparation heralded the arrival of another witch or wizard to their location, followed by another, and another, then another.

Amycus grinned up at them through bloodstained teeth, his gaze feral and triumphant, “Fuck you!”

Ron hit him with a stunner.

“Quick, give me the bag and get out of here,” Rosalie hissed, practically snatching the bag containing Slytherin’s manuscript off of Hermione’s shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hermione argued, “We’re _not_ leaving you.”

Rosalie grit her teeth in frustration, “I am able to defend myself better than you are! Go. Get. Help—”

Something sharp and hot caught her across the side of her face, tearing open the skin like it was warm butter as heat bloomed across her face. Instinctively they all dropped into a crouch, and not a moment too soon as a bright purple light whizzed by overhead. Rosalie’s hand came away from her face covered in blood.

“I can’t see them,” Ron whispered urgently.

“Hopefully that means they can’t see us, either,” Hermione returned.

“ _Go_ ,” Rosalie urged, standing briefly to return fire, barely dodging a stunning spell as she shot a Confundus into the bushes. Hermione and Ron followed her lead, firing off their own hexes beside her as the dark forest burst into a riot of colour.

“Drop it, Rose. We’re not leaving you here,” Hermione told her firmly, “We’ll try to incapacitate them and then run for Howards. Dumbledore may have already seen the Dark Mark in the sky.”

“Fine,” Rosalie huffed, knowing deep down that there was no time to argue the point with them. They would stay or they wouldn’t. In the end the choice was theirs, “but if we get separated and you’re trapped you apparate out of here.”

“Deal.”

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” a voice mocked.

Rosalie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at their cliché. Original. She waited until the next curse fired before sending a blasting curse back in the direction the spark of magic had come from, smirking at the surprised yell she heard as she blasted a gaping hole in the tree her attacker had been shielding behind. A whimper of pain had her spinning around thoguh, her gaze zeroing in on Hermione’s hunched form.

“Are you okay?” Rosalie breathed.

The brunette was clasping her hand protectively to her chest, her eyes clouded with pain.

Hermione nodded briskly, “Fine. Something just caught me on my knuckles.”

“Let me see,” Rosalie insisted.

“I’ll be fine, Rose,” Hermione denied, pushing her away.

“This is getting us nowhere,” a deep voice growled before she felt the sudden whoosh of flames pass by her side narrowly avoiding catching her in its path and successfully separating her from Ron who screamed and dived out of the way. A dull roar accompanied the sound and Rosalie stared wide eyed as the undergrowth around her went up in flames.

“You fool!” a familiar voice yelled, “She is to be brought before our Lord _alive_!”

Snape.

Rosalie felt her heart twist as something inside her ignited until it was burning as hot as the flames at her side. Snape was here! 

“Too late,” the other person growled, “might as well burn them out!”

Another whoosh accompanied by a billowing roar sounded and more flames appeared growing steadily larger and larger and Rosalie coughed as the smoke began to sting her eyes and lungs.

“We have to get out of here!” She yelled, turning to Hermione and finding her gone.

“Hermione?!” her eyes darted around, but the brunette was nowhere to be seen, “Ron?!”

The redhead was no longer visible through the wall of flames between them and Rosalie prayed that he’d cut his losses and apparated the hell out of there. The forest was crackling to life around her at a horrifying speed. Flames were licking up the sides of the trees, growing more and more furious with every inch they gained. Rosalie hesitated in indecision, not knowing whether to run or look for her friends or get out while she still had somewhere to run to. The decision was made for her though, when a large cracking sound from overhead sent a flaming branch tumbling down around her. The fire seemed to be closing in on her from all sides and she knew she didn’t have time to stay and look. The heat was already blisteringly hot against her skin; making her cheeks feel hot and tight against the heat. 

She had to get out of there! 

Now. 

Her hand strayed to the bag she’d snatched off of Hermione reassuringly as she turned and ran back the way they’d come, ignoring the hoots and hollering that seemed to echo around her over the roar of the fire. But the flames only seemed to follow her as spot fires began to form and trees burst into flames around her then burned with a fiery vengeance one after another, after another, until they were nothing but glowing orange skeletons against the blackness of the night.

This couldn’t be a normal fire. It couldn’t. It was building too rapidly! Surely nothing natural could spread this quickly or have grown so fast! It was all around her, hundreds and hundreds of meters of burnt forest! Rosalie screamed as something jumped out of the smouldering undergrowth at her feet and made a dart to safety, away from the flames that towered threateningly behind her. Even the wildlife was fleeing! They had to have used fiendfyre—which was notoriously difficult to control—there was no other explanation. They’d sooner bring the whole forest down around them, than let her walk out of here alive.

Rosalie forced her legs to keep moving, jogging uphill as she frantically searched for a point where she felt she could safely try to loop back around back in the direction of Hogwarts. The smoke was getting thicker though, making it harder to breathe comfortably and harder to see. Hot ash drifted down around her like snowflakes as Rosalie tripped and stumbled, landing heavily. The air was hot and acidic; it burnt her lungs as she fought to breathe and made her cough, which only made things worse. She felt like she was suffocating and thought perhaps that was exactly the case. Fires needed oxygen to burn, didn’t they?

Ripping a small section off of the skirt of her dress she covered her mouth and nose with the material in attempt to filter the air she was breathing and pushed herself back to her feet. Behind her the fire was gaining on her in leaps and bounds, moving far quicker than she was able to through the smoke and she realised suddenly that she wasn’t going to make it out of the forest before it caught up with her. 

She wasn’t going to make it out.

Almost everywhere she looked now there were flames save for a small passage ahead of her that lead her deeper into the woods.

“Potter!”

Her head snapped around at the sound of her name being yelled and she squinted through the thick smoke to see a black figure moving towards her with alarming speed. Death Eater. Rosalie spun around and forced herself to keep moving; a new kind of terror pumping through her veins. 

“Potter!”

The smoke seemed to part around him, allowing a clear path to form as he ran to her side practically tackling her to the ground. Rosalie shrieked and struggled against him as he crashed into her. 

“Get off of me!” she screamed kicking out at him violently.

“Rosalie! Stop it!” He snarled at her and she paused, recognising the voice.

“S-snape?”

Snape reached up and tore the white Death Eater mask from his face as he stared down at her. 

“We have to move!” He yelled as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet, “ _Quickly._ ”

They began to run and she realised suddenly that she could breathe easier when she was next to him, some sort of charm repelling the smoke and ash away from them as they ran. Snape’s hand was a steady pressure on her back forcing her onwards as they hurtled through the trees, the heat of the fire hot on their heels. It was blisteringly hot, singeing the clothes on her back even from the distance it was behind them. The roar in her ears was near deafening and only growing louder as behind them the blaze grew to mammoth proportions. All around them burning embers were raining down around them like snowflakes in winter, creating little spot fires in their wake and making her feel like they were running through the bowels of hell. All around her the putrid stink of smoke stuck in her throat and ash burnt her eyes, despite the charm that held it at bay. She’d never seen anything so terrifying in all her life and she prayed to Merlin that they made it out of this alive. It seemed an impossible task, but she kept going. She had to.

“ _There!_ ” Snape yelled over the deafening roar of the fire behind them, after it felt like they’d been running forever.

Rosalie didn’t even look up, just let him push her in the direction he’d pointed. She had to keep going, though her back felt like it too was on fire and the bare skin of her arms felt raw in the heat. She couldn’t think beyond the pounding of her heart or the rhythmic, frantic fall of her feet on uneven earth. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left...the rubber soles of her shoes were beginning to melt and stick to the ground. Left. Right. Left. Right. Lef—she gasped as she suddenly found her feet submerged in cold water and threw her arms out to brace herself as she stumbled forward ungracefully her head going under as she floundered. It felt icy again her overheated skin and she gasped breathlessly as her head broke through the surface of the water to re-emerge. She clasped blindly at Snape as he dragged her into the water behind him. The lake. They were in the lake.

“Keep moving!” he snapped at her and together they began to swim. The sudden cold of the water bit into her raw skin mercilessly, but it was a welcome pain, the pain of safety and refuge. Rosalie didn’t stop to let herself think, as they swam—as quickly as possible—out into the centre of the lake, only stopping when the heat of the fire no longer burnt their faces and the roar of the inferno had begun to lessen.

Her limbs were shaky, trembling with excess adrenaline and fatigue by the time they eventually crawled their way out of the water and onto land once more. Rosalie gave a dry sob of relief, nothing in her left to give as they collapsed onto the banks of the small island in the middle of the lake with a wet thud, tired, sore and soaking wet. 

She could feel her breath quavering unsteadily as she gasped for air, sobbing dryly as she turned, half curling herself into a ball so that she was lying on her side, her face turned into the damp earth as she let her exhaustion and fear overwhelm her. She could still feel Snape at her back, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating off of his body despite their sodden clothes, one arm—the one which had been supporting her all through the forest—still flung carelessly over her waist from where they had collapsed.

“Potter...” 

Snape’s arm lifted to her shoulder, pushing gently until she rolled onto her back beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Rosalie whispered unable to look at him, embarrassed that she was breaking down in front of him—again. Merlin, he must think her so weak. Poor, emotionally unstable Potter.

Snape frowned at her, “Are you alright?”

Rosalie pressed her lips together, trying to control the deep shuddering breaths that continued to force their way from her lungs as she nodded her affirmation. Her whole body was trembling now and she hugged herself tighter to try and fight it off.

Severus sighed, his features softening slightly as he drew her into his embrace, his hold more than a little ill at ease as he pat awkwardly at her back. As a rule, he didn’t comfort people, he couldn’t remember the last time held simply _held_ someone and to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing it right. It didn’t seem to matter. Potter curled into his embrace easily, her body fitting itself against his with ease as she grasped at even the awkward, unpractised comfort he offered. Her body was so petite in his arms, so soft and deceivingly delicate and though they both smelt of smoke, he could still recall with alarming clarity the sweet warmth of her scent from the night prior.

Severus stiffened with sudden awareness.

He couldn’t let his thoughts wander down that path. He was already all too aware of how her body felt in his arms and the memories of her mouth hot against his from the previous night were making guilt curl uncomfortably in his stomach. It had been a lapse in judgement he couldn’t forgive himself for or rationalise—an uncharacteristic moment of weakness that had no justification. A moment he’d successfully avoided thinking about all day. 

Until now. 

Severus shut his eyes, resolutely pushing the memories from his mind and trying to ignore the warmth that was radiating off of her body, warming him even through their drenched clothes.

“Snape?”

Shimmering pools of emerald green stared up at him with aching misery as he looked down at her trembling form and something foreign clenched inside of him as soft fingers lifted to feather across the line of his jaw in a barely-there caress. His hand came up to clasp the wrist of the hand still lightly touching his face, but he found himself unable to pull it away entirely. There was a fission of awareness spreading through him as the air seemed to crackle between them.

“Potter...” he began warningly.

He felt his gaze drop to those petal pink lips without his permission and the rush of adrenaline still in his system began to swirl in a different direction as a different heat began to prickle inside of him anew.

‘No,’ He chided himself internally, ‘I will not give in again.’ 

Severus’s jaw clenched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her damp eyelashes fluttering closed over those green, green eyes and he knew he’d already lost the battle before he’d even begun to fight it. Severus dropped his forehead to hers as the last remnants of control fled him and he claimed her mouth with his as she lifted her face to greet him.

Delicate hands knotted themself in the front of his robes as she moaned and tugged herself in closer, desperate and needy. His hands framed her face as he took her with lips, teeth and tongue, the tips of his fingers lost in all that silky black hair at the nape of her neck, wet from their swift dash into the lake. 

Potter gasped breathlessly into his mouth and Severus felt something akin to a growl rumble through him. What was it about this woman that made him unable to think around her? Unable to breathe? There were a hundred reasons why he should never have touched her, a hundred reasons why this was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. He should stop. He knew he should. Stopping, however, felt like the only thing more impossible than continuing, the only thing more unthinkable than giving in to this.

‘Merlin! I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Snape thought, even as he rolled her on to her back beneath him, both their breaths coming in harsh pants as they broke for air.

Potter arched up beneath him, her lips chasing his retreat unashamedly, eyes hooded with pleasure and lips slick as she sought to lure him back. Snape’s hand moved to grasp the back of her neck to support her head, a harsh sigh of pleasure escaping him as her tongue flicked out coyly, swiping along his lips and enticing his mouth unresisting back to hers. 

Impatient hands tugged at his robes in frustration, a heavy and wet curtain between them and he pulled back from her enough to help pull them off over his head, disregarding the long line of buttons from waist to collar in their need to be closer.

“Snape...”

Her hands found his waist, running up the strength of his back and over firm shoulders as he lowered his mouth to her neck, inhaling the softly scented skin of her throat. Somehow she still smelt sweet despite the cloak of smoke that clung to them both and he pressed his lips appreciatively into the skin of her neck. Her head fell to the side, a low moan rumbling through her as the touch of his lips against her overheated flesh fanned the flames of arousal higher. Liquid heat began to pool low in her abdomen and her legs lifted of their own accord, dragging their way up Snape’s body until her thighs gripped at his waist. Rosalie’s hips bucked up into his reflexively as she undulated beneath him, her body restless with a need she never felt before.

“Oh,” she gasped, her lips tickling his ear as she reacted to the wash of sensation that prickled over her body at the contact. Severus let out a grumbling moan as her thighs tightened their grip on his hips, forcing their bodies closer. He felt the roll of her hips again as they pushed up into his instinctively and groaned guiltily as this time he allowed himself to grind down against her heat. 

“Severus...” she breathed into his neck, her lips and teeth finding the tender skin behind his ear.

Severus moaned at the sound of his name on those lips, braced above her on one elbow as his free hand dropped back to slide down the silk of her thigh, the dress she’d worn that day falling away to bunch enticingly around her hips. 

The haze of arousal and lust blanketing them was thick with need as he allowed his fingers to trace the curve of her thigh inwards—downwards—until they found the seam of her underpants. Her breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over her clothed centre and he let out a ragged moan at the dampness his fingers encountered. Her eyes lifted to stare up at him from under thick lashes with a raw visceral kind of expression as he cupped her through the damp cloth, her heat almost overpowering. She rocked into him again, whimpering enticingly as her own hands scrambled beneath his robes to find the clasp on his pants. 

Severus hissed in pleasure as he pushed her underwear to one side, his fingers delving into her slick heat, slipping through her swollen, silken folds with ease. 

“Ungh!” She panted against him, arching up off of the ground to find him again, her lips attaching themselves wetly to his throat, kissing her way back up the underside of his jaw, pausing briefly to mouth his Adam’s apple as she pulled and tugged at his pants.

“Rosalie,” Severus grunted softly as his pants were shoved down his thighs unceremoniously and he finally fell into the palm of her hand. Without hesitation, she stroked him as she let her teeth scrape lightly over the ridge of his jaw.

She was pure nirvana and he groaned with anticipation as his fingers delved inside. Instinctively she clamped down around the intrusion, her breath hitching as her inner core strangled the digits invading her. He felt her legs tighten around him, pulling him forward, drawing him down into her heat. 

“Please,” she breathed against the damp skin of his throat, her lips teasing the sensitive skin there as she spoke. She wasn’t even entirely certain of what it was she was begging for, but they shuffled into alignment and she moaned as Severus let the thick head of his cock slide wetly through her folds teasingly, savouring the feel of her slippery heat and obvious arousal.

“Please,” Potter whispered again, her teeth finding and worrying the skin of his neck as she moaned her encouragement into his neck hotly and Severus, gathering his senses together enough to form one cohesive thought, thrust himself into her.

His eyes flew open in shock, the haze of arousal fogging his mind shattering abruptly as he felt himself tear through her maidenhood. 

Impossible.

Rosalie winced, a groan that was more pain than pleasure escaping her as her as her inner walls clamped down around him reflexively unprepared for the foreign feeling of being filled.

Severus couldn’t help the answering moan that resonated from inside his chest at the feel of her constricting so tightly around him.

Rosalie fastened her mouth over his once more, swallowing the remnants of his shocked and guilty moan as she rocked her hips purposefully, winding both legs and arms around him as if trying to tie his body to hers.

“Potter—”

Severus’ hands flew to her hips, not sure whether he was trying to stop the movement or guide it as she undulated underneath him, her unpractised motions slowly coaxing him, thrust by thrust back into the moment.

Merlin, he was going straight to hell.

“Potter...”

A strangled moan clawed its way out of him and on the next roll of her hips he thrust down to meet her, driving himself almost helplessly into temptation. Potter threw her head back and gasped her face awash with pleasure as her fingers dug into his back desperately. 

Merlin, she felt amazing, her silken depths dragging him back into her again and again, guiding him home hot and slick. Her lips found his neck, his face and finally his lips and she moaned her pleasure into him as he as they fell into a rhythm. Severus let the sin of her mouth and her body drag him back under until he felt his faculties slowly leave him again as he indulged in the visual, auditory and sensory overload she presented him. 

She was intoxicating.

Addiction.

“Beautiful,” he told her, almost absently.

Rosalie braced her hand on the back of his neck dragging him down into full, wet, passion filled kisses as each thrust sent a burst of pleasure racing up through her body, making her unable to remain still under the onslaught, making her pant her pleasure into his mouth and moan like she was dying. 

His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as awe-filled green eyes that were glazed with passion and lust gazed up at him. Her brow creased in concentration, her skin dewy with sweat and Severus let go, allowing himself to thrust into her wildly as his hands dipped below her waistline once more to rub teasing circles against the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her centre. She quivered and pressed herself into him caught between trying to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on her and wanting more as she gave herself over to him with complete abandonment. Severus groaned as she started to tighten around him like a vice, her walls pulsing erratically she climbed higher and higher.

“Oh Merlin!” She sobbed against him breathless, her brow creased as she chased completion, her nails digging into the back of his neck, “S-Severus!”

Severus growled, grasping at her hips hard enough to bruise as she fell apart in his arms and swiftly dragged him over the edge alongside her. With hiss of pleasure he emptied himself thrust by thrust into her pulsing channel.

He prevented himself—only just—from collapsing on top of her. Potter was trembling underneath him, her hands releasing their punishing grip on his neck to clutch weakly at his biceps. Severus let his head drop forward until his forehead was pressed into the crook of her neck as the arm that was not taking his weight lifted to run a hand soothingly up and down her exposed thigh. The warmth of afterglow filled them and for a time, Severus let himself enjoy it as they melted into one another. Her inner walls continued to pulsate around his softening cock irregularly as they began to relax and their laboured breathing returned to normal.

Severus didn’t feel inclined to move and knew the minute they did real life would intrude upon them once more. Instead he continued to pet her absently, stroking her body gently—reassuringly—luxuriating in the feel of her, the softness of her against him, the heat of her surrounding him, the smell of her all over him. They couldn’t stay there forever, though, and Severus knew if they didn’t move soon, someone would eventually find them. It was a sobering thought. He could already imagine the reaction they would receive if someone were to come across them whilst he was still balls deep in their thoroughly debauched Chosen One.

Severus sighed, “We shouldn’t linger. We need to return to Grimmauld Place.”

Her nod was interrupted by a sharp wince as he slid out of her and Severus was filled with the oddest emotion as he watched her pull her underwear back in place and push her skirt back down around her legs. Standing, he made quick work of tucking himself away and felt somewhat better for having regained some sense of normalcy between them once more. 

It was painfully obvious, with their unexpected and shockingly intense moment of intimacy behind them, that neither of them knew where to look.

“What now?” Potter asked, her cheeks taking on a pink tint visible even in the relative darkness of the night as her eyes turned to sweep out across the lake and the smouldering remains of the Forbidden Forest behind them.

‘Good question,’ He thought silently, knowing he’d just crossed a line with Potter that should never have been crossed. He’d believed himself a man of utmost control and discipline, had trained himself to be as much and had never once faulted, yet he was...appallingly weak in her presence. 

Merlin.

At a distance, he could already see the Order out battling the flames, trying to control the blaze. Someone was likely already looking for her. He swallowed thickly and fought valiantly to pull himself together, ignoring the fact that he’d just fucked the Girl-Who-Lived—a _student_ —on Hogwarts grounds.

Severus ruthlessly stamped down that line of thought, averting his gaze from the profile of her face, “You’ll make your way up to the school and speak the Headmaster. No doubt the Order is already out combing the forest for you and he will need to be informed of the night’s events. I must to return to the Dark Lord.”

“What will you tell him?” Potter asked, scooping up Hermione’s sodden satchel she’d been hauling around all night.

“The truth, bar the fact that I found and helped you to escape,” Snape told her, “lying is of little use when others were there to bear witness to the events that unfolded and I am as much in the dark as those who were in my company as to what the in Merlin’s name the three of you were doing in the forest in the first place.”

Rosalie nodded, but didn’t answer.

Snape gave her a curious look, but didn’t push the issue.

“Your rescue team arrives,” Snape drawled, eyes flicker over her shoulder to the silhouettes of Lupin and Arthur Weasley as they made their way around the banks of the lake.

Rosalie turned and watched their approach, “I should go meet them.”

Snape nodded, watching as she turned to leave only to hesitate and look back at him.

“Be careful,” she told him, then turned and walked off.

Severus didn’t linger long enough to watch the reunion.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** So, I’m a little nervous about this chapter. Let me know what you think... 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review so far, your comments have been amazing! I seriously love reading what you have to say in regards to the chapters I've written! It's so inspiring to hear that you're all enjoying the story so far :)
> 
> ~Quill


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Thirteen**

The guilt didn’t hit him fully until he was sitting opposite Albus, the man—his mentor—looking on him with kind, understanding eyes while his cock was practically still wet with her pleasure. Severus could still feel the imprint of her etched into his body and mind, her scent seemed branded into his subconscious and his skin felt tight with the memory of her touch. Between the Dark Lord and Albus, he hadn’t even had time to shower and though rationally he knew the thick burn of smoke still clung to him, all he could smell was Rosalie Potter.

Severus swallowed heavily and looked away.

Guilt wound its icy claws around him, making his stomach clench and his head pound. He was going straight to hell; he thought for the millionth time that night, there was nothing else for it. He’d deflowered Albus’ Golden Girl, the fated saviour of the Wizarding World—The Girl-Who-Bloody-Lived! 

The girl that he knew the man before him thought of as a granddaughter. 

Severus bit back the urge to groan in self-depreciation and instead concentrated on being able to look his mentor in the eye. Perhaps his one saving grace was at the very least she had been of age—even if just barely. Legally she was an adult.

“Are you quite alright, my boy?” Albus asked gently as he moved to place a comforting hand on the Potions Master’s shoulder. Severus fought the urge to shrug the hand off, “It’s been a hard night for you, perhaps you should rest?”

Severus shook his head, “I am well, Albus. I will rest later.”

Albus gazed at him shrewdly over the rim of his spectacles, “Are you quite sure you are alright? There is no harm in admitting it, if you’re not. Sometimes it takes a stronger man to admit he needs help, than to act otherwise.”

‘A stronger man might have also said ‘no’,’ he thought to himself bitterly.

Severus fought the urge to vocalise his derision, “Quite, sure. I am merely tired.”

Albus was watching him with concerned eyes and Severus looked away. He needed a stiff drink; several, in fact. Something—anything—that would obliterate Rosalie Potter from his mind and leave him comfortably numb once more.

“Was Voldemort suspicious of your prolonged absence?” Albus asked finally.

Severus shook his head, “If he was, he didn’t show it. I told him that I pursued Potter and that in doing so we passed through the school’s wards—which is truth. The school recognises my signature and allowed me entry. I implied that I then continued to pursue Potter through the forest, whilst trying to avoid the inferno at my back, until I was forced to abandon the attempt in order to maintain my cover as we were not long after greeted by the Order.”

Albus nodded, “Which is essentially what happened, as I understand it.”

Severus nodded carefully. Essentially.

“I am at a loss to understand what Potter and her cohorts were doing in the forest in the first place, alone, outside of the boundaries of the wards no less? You told me you were keeping an eye on them,” Severus queried, subtly shifting the direction of the conversation.

“I’d not anticipated their search taking them outside the boundaries of the wards,” Albus admitted tiredly, “I knew the minute they had crossed the wards that something unforseen had occurred, but it wasn’t until quite sometime later that circumstances made themself apparent. Were Fawkes not in his infancy once more, I would have sent him to retrieve them. Alas...”

Severus frowned.

Albus chuckled, “That child will be the death of me, her penchant for attracting trouble is unrivalled.”

Severus stomach twisted violently at the very notion of Albus referring to Potter as a _child_. Young, no doubt, but he was no monster. He did not sleep with children.

“She is no longer a child,” He stated stiffly.

Albus nodded absently, “You are, of course, right. It is easy to forget how quickly time slips away. Though, to a man of my age, Severus, sometimes it feels even a man of your age is a child by comparison, my boy.”

Severus said nothing as guilt gnawed at his insides like a rampant beast. It was a living, breathing entity that threatened to consume him whole. A child she may not be, but he _had_ taken her innocence, had he not?

“Really, Severus, you do seem quite out of sorts this evening,” Albus spoke again after a beat, his concerned gaze focused once more on the dark haired Potions Master sitting before him wearing such a troubled look.  
Severus nodded finally, “Perhaps you are right, Albus. I think it might be best if retire for the evening.”

“Of course, my boy,” Albus agreed kindly, “This war takes its toll on all of us, none more so than you, I’d wager given the role you take on. I’m sorry if you feel I expect too much from you, Severus.”

“You expect nothing of me that I’m not willing to give,” Severus replied curtly, pushing himself to his feet, “If you’ll excuse me, then.”

“Sleep well,” Albus bid him and Severus slipped from the room and those infuriatingly twinkling eyes that judged him without realising there was cause to. Without his consent an image of Potter flushed and panting beneath him danced across his memory, coupled with the echo of Dumbledore’s words: 

_‘That child will be the death of me.’_

Severus bit out a growl of frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. What in Merlin’s name was he playing at?

*

“She was hit with some kind of flesh decaying spell,” Ron told her gently, “Got her on the knuckles apparently. By the time she realised it was spreading it was covering her hand; had her whole arm by the time she’d apparated home.”

Rosalie nodded, staring remorsefully down at Hermione’s peaceful face as she remembered asking if her friend had been okay. Apparently she should have pushed harder. 

“She’s asleep?” Rosalie asked.

Ron nodded, “Madame Pomfrey spelled her asleep while she regrows all new muscles and skin on her right arm. She said if it had travelled any further they might not have been able to reverse the damage.”

Something sick and heavy twisted in her stomach as she thought about how closer Hermione had come. 

“What about you, though? Are you alright? What happened?” Ron asked. “After we were separated I tried for a bit to find you, but the fire... never seen anything like it in my life! The whole forest seemed to go up in flames in a matter of seconds! I ran until I was far enough away to apparate, when I couldn’t I realised I’d crossed the wards at some point and the next thing I knew Dumbledore and the Order were there. I had no idea where you or ‘Mione were...”

Rosalie nodded, “I had no choice but to run back they way we’d come. I ran into Snape along the way and he lead me back around to the lake. We only just made it in without going up in flames ourselves. That’s where Remus and your Dad found me.”

Ron’s eyes darkened at the mention of Snape but for once he didn’t say anything. Perhaps, it was because the man had just saved her life. Again. Or maybe he was just as sick of fighting over it as she was. She hoped it was the latter, though she suspected that was wishful thinking. 

“Apparently they used Fiendfyre,” Rosalie offered, trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them, full of things left unsaid.

Ron sighed, “Yeah. How’s your face?”

“Fine,” Rosalie told him honestly, reaching up to brush her fingers over her cheek. It had taken Madame Pomfrey all of three seconds to heal the gash across her face and it had been the last thing on her mind when she’d floo’d back into Grimmauld Place. Even now her head was still so full of the clutter of the night, that she didn’t know where to begin. She was too afraid to ask about whether Greyback had made it out alive, or the Carrow’s, for that matter. Guilt was already churning thickly in her stomach over what she’d done to Greyback—though he of all people deserved what had happened to him. He was a monster in the truest sense of the word. 

Severus would know, once he returned home from the Dark Lord. She would ask him then. 

Her cheeks coloured at the mere thought of Snape’s name and Rosalie squeezed her thighs together as she remembered his touch, her flesh tingling with the memory of him. The dull ache she felt between her thighs wasn’t enough to dampen the memory of the slight roughness of his hands against her flesh, his mouth on hers or the scent of his skin. Her heart was pounding with the memory of it, yet somehow it seemed impossible that it could have actually happened.

“Are you okay? You’re all red and you’re breathing kind of funny,” Ron asked worriedly and Rosalie felt her face flame hotter.

“I’m great. Just tired, you know?” She offered as she pushed to her feet in embarrassment, “I’m going to go see if I can find Dumbledore and show him the manuscript. He’ll want to know what happened.”

Ron nodded uncertainly, “Okay. You want me to come?”

Rosalie shook her head, “No. You stay with Hermione.”

She darted out of the room before he could say more and made her way quickly through the house to Dumbledore’s makeshift office. She was surprised when the door swung open as she approached, making her falter in her steps as the man whose touch she had just been remembering stepped out of the room.

Her heart jolted at the sight of him, skipping a beat before thundering back into action at twice its usual speed. She smiled up at him, slowing as she drew nearer, but his gaze barely met her own but briefly, distant and cold. 

Shock lanced through her at the ice in that expression, the polar opposite of the heat that she’d seen in his eyes barely an hour ago. She felt something inside her shy away and curled in on itself at the look he gave her and chill passed over her body.

“Miss Potter,” he greeted curtly, sweeping past her without a backward glance.

Rosalie frowned her feet faltering again as he brushed past her without pause. Confusion warred against hurt within her at the abrupt dismissal, so reminiscent of her early years at Hogwarts, not something she’d grown used to or come to expect from him this past year.

She opened her mouth to respond, call out to him and make him turn around and look at her again, but for some reasons the words caught in her throat.

“Rose,” Dumbledore greeted, making her spin around to face voice from behind her as he beckoned her into his study, “I was about to come find you, but it appears you read my mind.”

Rose smiled weakly at him and followed him into the room, trying to put Snape from her thoughts as she face the headmaster’s kind, probing blue eyes.

“I wanted to speak to you about what happened today, Rose. Particularly how you came to be in the Forbidden Forest,” he asked her mildly, his tone gentle and unassuming.

Rosalie forced herself to focus on the topic at hand.

“It’s a long story, sir. But first, I wanted to show you this,” Rosalie said, reaching down into Hermione’s rucksack—thankfully spelled to be waterproof—and pulled out Slytherin’s Manuscript. She held the aged tome out to the Headmaster carefully waiting until he’d taken it to begin her explanation.

“We found Slytherin’s study, sir,” She began, “This was inside. There is a chapter within it containing quite detailed knowledge regarding the creation and foundations of Horcrux’s.”

The Headmaster glanced up at her with sharp eyes.

Rosalie nodded, “I think it might hold the key to destroying them.”

*

Remus let out a weary sigh.

It wasn’t hard to see that something was going on between Rosalie Potter and Severus Snape, he thought as he watched his goddaughter with worry as she seemed to turn manic in her desire to clean the entire house—without magic. The anger that was pouring off of her in waves was palpable, yet he was completely in the dark as to what had cause such a dramatic shift to her usually pleasant mood. 

It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to connect her abrupt shift in countenance to Severus’ absence, yet he soon came to realise could be no great coincidence that her anger coincided with Severus’ sudden departure—he only wish he knew what could have possibly occurred to prompt such as drastic response. From _both_ of them.

He’d been surprised by their apparent closeness when he’d first arrived back at Grimmauld Place, subtle though their behaviour was, he might not have noticed at all if it hadn’t been so very different from the frank antagonism which had existed between them back in Rosalie’s third year. That and he’d been intrigued by Severus’ evident knowledge and understanding of all things ‘Rose’. It had been the little things that had hinted to this supposed friendship, though. Rosalie knew how Severus took his tea without prompting and vice versa, the subtle smirk at this comment or that, a lack of any real goading in their arguments and their total ease in one another’s presence and space. They respected one another, trusted one another even, and Remus could admit he’d been somewhat jealous.

To see them now, though, made it all the more obvious that something had changed. Rosalie had returned from their ordeal at Hogwarts with her mood understandably subdued. Days had passed though and her mood had changed from a dejected kind of contemplation to outright anger, and Remus had seen neither hide nor hair of Severus since he’d left that night. He might have been worried for the man if not for the fact that once or twice he’d been able to smell the lingering traces of Severus’ scent in the air—proof that he’d at least visited Grimmauld Place in the last week if nothing else.

Remus sighed again; they were both such volatile personalities in their own way, that no matter the bridges they’d built over the past year, they were still bound to argue along the way. He only hoped this proved to be a minor bump in their peculiar friendship. If nothing else, Rosalie needed Severus’ assistance if she were to have any hope at winning this war.

As though his very thoughts had summoned the man in question, the kitchen floo flared to life to expel the severe looking Potions Master into the room.

“Severus!” Remus greeted in surprise, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Severus arched a sardonic eyebrow, “Do you not require relieving of your current duties? Albus lead me to believe he had need of your _expertise_?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Remus agreed, choosing to ignore the slight dig, “I was expecting to have to call in one of the Weasley boys to remain here at Grimmauld Place, however, due to your....absence of late.”

Severus sneered, “That will not be necessary.”

Remus nodded, hesitated, then nodded again, “I suppose not.”

Better judgement was telling him it was probably unwise to leave Severus and Rosalie alone together with their explosive tempers as they were, but he knew— _knew_ —Severus would never harm her, even if they did rip one another to shreds verbally. 

Remus let out a low sigh, “She’s been...out of sorts, since the incident at Hogwarts. As a result the house has never looked so clean.”

Severus gave him a tight look, one eyebrow arched as if in question.

“Rosalie cleans when she is angry or upset,” Remus explained.

Severus gave him a withering look, “I am well aware of that, Lupin.”

Remus nodded, “Yes, I suppose you would be.”

Severus glared down the length of his nose at him, “And what exactly are you—”

His retort was cut short as the kitchen door swung open loudly, Rosalie’s bitter form standing framed in by the doorway. The air took on a chill that Remus suspected wasn’t completely natural as he watched her glance from him to Severus briefly and back again.

“Professor,” She greeted neutrally, her eyes averted.

Severus nodded, “Miss Potter.” 

It was the first time Remus had seen the two of the in the same vicinity as one another for the past week. He’d expected the frostiness between them, which was there in spades, but if anything Rosalie seemed to relax the tiniest bit with Severus’ sudden re-emergence into their daily lives. 

‘Of course,’ Remus thought as he watched the girl he considered family walk over to the sink with cool indifference to fill up the bucket she’d been carrying, Of course, she’d have no doubt been worrying about Severus’ absence too, only she’d not had the same reassurances he’d had over Severus’ continued survival in this war.

Severus’ eyes tracked Rosalie as she moved across the room before flicking back to his own.

“I expect to see you in the training room this afternoon,” he stated simply, before nodding briefly at Remus and sweeping from the room.

Rosalie didn’t reply or show any signs of having heard the order, but her shoulders were tense and her back ramrod straight as she waited patiently at the sink for the bucket to fill.

Remus sighed for what felt like the millionth time.

“I wish you would talk to me, Rose,” He said finally, unable to keep his silence any longer, “I wish you’d tell me what’s got you so upset. I’d feel better about leaving you here if I knew.”

“I’m not upset,” she retorted sharply, her back still to him as she concentrated on her task at the sink.

“Angry, then,” Remus corrected, “I can tell something’s wrong. I can help if you’ll let me.”

Rosalie sighed, “I’m fine, Remus. Nothing is the matter in particular. I just have a lot on my plate at the moment and I guess I’m a little tired.”

“And Severus?” Remus prompted, “You and he seem to have had a falling out.”

“Snape?” she queried shooting him an odd look, “Why would you think he has anything to do with anything?”

Remus gave her a pointed look “He’s been absent for some reason or another for the past week, Rose, ever since you were attacked in the forest—”

Rosalie shook her head, “I told you, I’m just tired, Remus. Snape has nothing to do with anything.”

Remus was at a loss of what else he could do or say. He knew she was lying to him and fobbing him off with excuses, but if she didn’t want to talk to him, he couldn’t make her. He’d given her the opening and she hadn’t taken it.

It hurt that she trusted him so little.

“I know you’re worried, but don’t be,” Rosalie offered, seeming to realise his disappointment, “I’m fine. I appreciate your concern.”

Remus nodded, accepting the hug she pressed into his back briefly before disappearing from the room again, leaving Remus to his own misgivings once more.

*

Of course Remus would notice that something was wrong—it would have been impossible for him not to, not when they lived in such close quarters day in and day out. But talking to Remus about how she was upset because she’d had sex—with _Snape_ —and her lover now appeared to hate her, when Remus was the closest thing she had to a father, was a notion beyond mortifying. Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t something she thought the werewolf would be very happy about. There was also the fact that _she_ didn’t even know what to think about it. The sex had been beyond amazing, better than she’d ever imagined it could feel. She’d never felt that close to anyone in her entire life and the moment itself had been beautiful...but the aftermath had been awkward. Painful. Humiliating even.

Rosalie scowled at the memory.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that it didn’t help matters that necessity had prevented them from being able to linger or acclimatise to the abrupt change in their relationship, but it had been a situation rife with awkwardness and embarrassment on her part, and perhaps....regret on his? He hadn’t looked at her since with anything but cool indifference. He hadn’t been _present_ to look at her, and Rosalie couldn’t help but feel that was _because_ of her.

He was avoiding her.

It had hurt at first, knowing that his thoughts and feelings on the matter were so obviously negative ones, but hurt had quickly turned into anger the longer he’d stayed away.

If he hadn’t wanted her, why kiss her in the first place? Twice even? Why let it get that far? Perhaps it had been the heat of the moment, but why do something you were going to so clearly hate yourself for the next day?

Was she that undesirable? Had she been that bad?

She couldn’t understand what his aversion to her was, if not that? She was above the age of consent, they had done nothing wrong. Was it because he thought she was too young? Had she disappointed him somehow? She didn’t want to admit to herself how much it hurt to be so clearly regretted by someone she’d come to think so highly of. Someone she cared about.

“Hey.”

Rosalie looked up at her best friend as he loped in through the door.

“Hi, how’s Hermione?” She asked immediately. 

It had taken longer than anticipate for Hermione to grow the skin and muscle back to her right arm, and when she had, she’d had start exercises to retrain muscles that were new and awkward. Madame Pomfrey told her it wasn’t like muggle rehabilitation in so far as it didn’t take months, but she’d have to use it constantly over the next fortnight if she wanted 100 percent use of her hand back.

“She’s good. Great, even. The hand’s going well,” He told her brightly.

“That’s great,” Rosalie smiled, “Now’s not really a great time though, if you wanted to talk. Snape’s probably waiting on me in the training room.”

Ron’s expression darkened predictably, “So he’s back, is he?”

Rosalie sighed, “Ron—”

The redhead shot her a look as if to ask ‘what?’ and Rosalie frowned at him.

“Just leave it, okay?” Rosalie huffed as she stood to leave.

“But—”

“How many different ways does he have to prove to you that he’s on our side?” Rosalie finally snapped, spinning on her heel so she was face to face with her best friend, even if he was more than a couple of inches taller than her.

Ron stumbled over his words as he searched for an answer.

“I’m sick of having to listen to this constant... _bitching_ every time Snape’s name comes up in conversation!” Rosalie growled.

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it?” Ron yelled back as his temper got the best of him, “His name is _always_ coming up. He’s part of almost everything you do, Rose, and I don’t trust him. I don’t care that he spends a couple of hours every other day training you Legili— _whatever_ it’s called. He also spends a good amount of time in your head, from the way you tell it, and I want to know how you know he’s not telling You-Know-Who all your secrets every time he runs on back to play Death Eater with the boys.” 

Rosalie stared at him in disbelief, “My secrets? Ron, he’s the one who taught me Occlumency in the first place! He doesn’t get to _see_ any of my secrets anymore, and even if he did, I don’t believe for one second that he’d betray them to Voldemort. Why don’t you stop trying to make this about something that it isn’t and just admit you’re mad because you’ve still got a grudge against him that I managed to get over a long time ago!”

“I’m mad because he’s got you fooled!” Ron yelled at her in exasperation, “I don’t care how _loyal_ he claims he is to Dumbledore, he’s in the perfect position to betray you to Voldemort and I think you’re crazy for spending so much time alone with the bastard.”

Rosalie sighed, “I don’t have time for this! Do you really think Dumbledore would allow us to spend so much time alone together if he didn’t trust Snape? If you’re so worried then come with me for all I care!”

“Fine, I will!” Ron agreed and fell into step behind her.

Rosalie fought the urge to turn around and slap him as she stomped down the hall towards her training room. Snape was already waiting for her when she entered the room with Ron trailing barely a foot behind her. He looked as formidable and imposing as ever in his usual teaching robes and Rosalie felt something cold shiver through her at the closed off look on his face as he turned to glare at them. This Snape was impenetrable. This Snape reminded her of the man he’d been when they’d started those appalling lessons in Occlumency back at the beginning of her fifth year.

This Snape hated her.

Professor Snape was nothing like then man—her mentor—that she’d come to know and trust over the past year. Light years away from the man who’d been coaching her so supportively in her Legilimency efforts over the last few weeks.

Certainly, nothing like the man that had made her writhe under his touch and pant out his name a week ago. He was determined to distance himself from her it seemed.

“Professor,” she greeted neutrally.

“You’re late,” He replied as his gaze slipped over her shoulder to stop on Ron, “Get out, Weasley.”

“I’m here to watch,” Ron snarled defiantly, moving further into the room purposefully. Snape glance at her expectantly and Rosalie felt her anger swell once more.

“I told him he could come so he he’d believe you weren’t using these training sessions as a chance to kidnap me and deliver me to Voldemort,” Rosalie replied shooting a look of annoyance at her friend.

“My mistake, Weasley, I was unaware Miss Potter had so kindly granted you her permission to intrude on our lesson,” Snape sneered with biting sarcasm, “her word, of course, overrides my own.”

Ron glared at him nastily.

“Shall we begin then?” Snape asked as he turned towards her once more, his look as closed off and severe as ever.

Rosalie frowned.

“No? Perhaps a demonstration for Mr. Weasley then?” he snarled.

Rosalie gasped out in pain as his mind was suddenly battering at her shields, pushing relentlessly at her mind as he tried to overwhelm her with his strength. He was trying to invade her mind and he wasn’t being subtle about it. Rosalie grit her teeth and strengthened her shields as she was once more forcibly reminded of what those early Occlumency lessons had been like, which was the aim of this little display, no doubt.

“No,” She hissed angrily and ejected him from her mind abruptly.

Rosalie couldn’t keep the mix of anger and hurt of her face as she glared at him.

“The Dark Lord won’t be gentle,” he told her unapologetically. 

Rosalie’s look never wavered, “Well thankfully you’ve already taught me how to shield my mind, so maybe we can move on to the real lesson?”

She was tempted to assault his mind in the same manner he’d just forced her to endure out of childish anger, but decided against it, knowing it would only make his dark mood worse.

Rosalie felt something sharp coil up inside of her.

“ _Legilimens!_ ” she incanted using the spell to guide her as she forced her mind outwards.

She could feel the frantic angry buzz of her best friend’s mind behind her, his unshielded mind battering at hers with every thought that ran through his mind. She ignored it though and focused on the calm familiar buzz of energy that was Snape. He was shielding well, blocking out everything but his very presence from her as she slowly and carefully allowed her consciousness to blanket his mind as he’d taught her, searching for the natural point of entry with cautious mental fingers.

Rosalie groaned as the air forcefully left her body as thought she’d been punched in the stomach with an iron fist. She gasped in a breath and looked up at Snape from where she’d landed on the floor.

Climbing to her feet, she shot him a warning glare as he stared at her impassively.

“I thought Occlumency was about blocking someone from your thoughts _without_ making them aware of it?” she growled in anger, “You needn’t throw me across the room to prove a point.”

“I’m merely demonstrating the most likely outcome of which will occur if you let the Dark Lord—or one of his Death Eaters—realise you are attempting to gain access to their thoughts. That I am not following it up with a well placed Cruciatus is a given,” Snape told her evenly, his voice menacing rather than sexy as it had been that night.

Rosalie fought the urge to blush as her mind seemed to betray her and she forced the memory from her mind angrily. She continued to glare balefully at him. She should have realised, she supposed, that one night together wasn’t going to change anything, but she’d never assumed it would turn him back into the spiteful bastard he’d been to her when she’d first started taking lessons from him. She knew what type of man he was; only it had felt like he cared, like it might have meant something that she herself was only just coming to understand. Severus Snape was a man who showed few emotions though and fewer still that would leave him vulnerable in any way, shape or form.

Closing her eyes, she resolved to get Legilimency right for once so they could be done with it. She was tired of fighting with everyone. 

Opening her eyes again she focused her gaze unblinkingly on his. Breathing in deep and slow she let her mind begin to expand slowly.

‘ _Legilimens_.’

The incantation echoed through her mind like an exhaled breath and it was only as she felt her mind rushing towards his that she realised she’d invoked the incantation wordlessly. She let her consciousness spread out over his, blanketing him carefully this time, but his awareness remained a distant hum. Reaching out, she felt for the cracks in his defences that she knew would be there and let herself sink down into them.

Snape’s mind was tense and ready as if still expecting the attack that was already occurring. Rosalie let herself fall into the rhythm of his mind as she sought out the word—a rare potion ingredient that she’d never be able to simply guess—that she had to try and pull from his mind. She’d yet to succeed even once, but _this time_ her whole body felt like it was tingling with anticipation even as she forced herself to remain calm.

 _There_...

The door bursting open startled her and she felt her mind jar in his. Snape reacted instantly, pushing her forcibly from his mind with little in the way of finesse. 

Rosalie growled in frustration as she once again, had to pick herself up from the floor.

“My apologies,” Dumbledore offered both of them as he made his was further into the room. It was only as he nodded once in greeting at Ron that she even remembered her friend was still in the room and she took in the thunderous look on his face with growing annoyance.

“It is of no concern,” Snape replied briskly, ignoring Rosalie entirely as she pulled herself back to her feet.

Dumbledore looked enquiringly between them, “Is something wrong? I was under the impression you were both on better terms with one another these days.”

“Indeed,” Snape replied dismissively, “What can I do for you, Albus?”

“It is actually our Miss Potter I’m after,” Dumbledore told them as he levelled his gaze on the girl in question.

“Sir?”

Dumbledore smiled, “I was hoping we might make that excursion we’ve been meaning to go on tonight?”

Rosalie swallowed, “Of course.”

“Good, good,” Dumbledore nodded, “I shall see you after dinner then, in my study.”

“Yes, sir,” Rosalie replied, studiously avoiding Ron’s gaze.

“Thank you, Rose,” Dumbledore said, giving the room a final nod of farewell as he turned for the door.

Rosalie watched him leave the room with an odd sort of heaviness in her chest. She could feel the first stirrings of nervousness starting and ruthlessly tried to trample them back down.

“Excuse me,” She told the two men in the room absently as she made her way to the door.

“We’re not finished, Potter,” Severus told her firmly.

“Yes we are,” she replied just as strongly, “You were thinking of powdered basilisk scales before the professor interrupted.”

Snape frowned, “I was still able to detect your presence.”

Rosalie opened the door, “Then I’ll practice harder. Tomorrow.”

Snape and Ron watched her walk out the door in silence before Ron rounded on the older man.

“I’m watching you,” Ron whispered threateningly, “Rose might trust you, but I don’t. So don’t think I won’t be ready when you decided to show your true colours.”

Snape turned his glare on the redheaded boy, “That sounds awfully like a threat, Weasley. Perhaps you should take a closer look at who your enemies and allies are, because you’re wasting all your energy on the wrong person. Potter’s safety is my number one priority in this war.”

“Sure it is,” Ron sneered before jogging out of the room after his friend.

He caught up to her as she was entering the library, flinging the door shut behind them and rounding on her.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded, “I thought you said he treated you alright nowadays?”

“He does,” She snapped, “Just leave it, alright?”

“Leave it?” Ron thundered angrily, “I just watched that bastard treat you like shit, for no good reason at all, Rose, and you’re _still_ defending him? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” she yelled as angry, frustrated tears began to prickle at her eyes, “He’s just mad at me, alright? We had an argument...just leave it, Ron. _Please_.”

Ron softened as he saw tears filling her eyes and heard the emotion clogging her voice, “Rose...”

She kept her back turned to him resolutely.

“Come here,” he offered softly, tugging her around until she was buried in his arms, her head tucked neatly under his chin as he felt the first of her tears begin to wet his shirt, “Please don’t cry.”

Anger bubbled in his gut, choking him with its magnitude as she clung to him tears wetting his shirt.

“I’ll bloody kill that bastard,” he murmured.

Rosalie shook her head, “No, don’t. Just leave it, Ron. It’s more complicated than you think.”

“I hate that he can make you cry, Rose,” Ron snarled, “How can you even think of defending him?”

Rosalie pulled back and wiped her eyes, “I’m not, he was a right bastard just now, but he didn’t make me cry. I’m just angry and frustrated. If he wants to treat me like shit, then that’s fine, but I won’t take it lying down.”

Rosalie blushed at her own words before she could control the reaction, “It’ll be fine, Ron.”

“What are you fighting about, anyway?” Ron asked moodily.

“It’s nothing important,” She told him, fobbing him off, “Come one, help me get ready for the trip with Dumbledore. I’m sick of getting myself worked up over this.”

Ron hesitated, reluctant to let the topic go.

“Ron, Please?”

Sighing he nodded and held out his hand, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Rosalie echoed, forcing down her emotions as she led him from the room.

*

Severus exhaled harshly through gritted teeth.

That had been necessary. Absolutely. What they needed more than anything was distance in order to reclaim their respective roles of teacher and student rather than this abnormal limbo they’d found themselves in. It was left up to him to make her see that, though the imprint of her felt like it had been branded onto his soul making it impossible to forget her. Not even the guilt that had latched onto his chest, sitting thick and heavy could spoil the memory of her.

Severus swallowed heavily and looked away from the doorway.

He was going straight to Hell, if such a place truly existed, there was nothing else for it. He’d deflowered Albus’ bloody Girl Wonder, and he’d loved every second of it. It was abhorrent. What was it about Rosalie Potter that managed to affect him so badly? Twice now he had given in to her like he was a man dying of thirst and she his only means of survival. Her mother had been beautiful and infuriating too and he’d fancied himself in love with her, but she’d never had the power over him that her daughter seemed to wield. Rosalie Potter, had managed to crawl her way under his skin to tear down his defences without so much as a token fight. It was infuriating beyond belief, to know that someone had the power to unhinge him so completely. He’d allowed himself to relax around her. He’d allowed himself to trust her. He allowed himself to see her as an equal—his peer. He’d allowed her too much, too close and if he wasn’t careful, he knew he’d do it again.

She was intoxicating.

Severus clenched his fists against the memory, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. Distance was good. Safe. She had to hate him again, or at least severely dislike him since outright hatred would prove detrimental to their continued lessons. Today had been a step in the right direction.

Unbidden an image of her danced across his memory, eyes wide and dilated as they gazed up at him, flushed with arousal and panting heavily. He felt himself stir at the memory and hissed in frustration. He refused to touch himself over her like some hormonal schoolboy. He would not acknowledge this attraction. 

He was tempted to apparate directly to his room, pick up the half finished bottle of scotch that still sat on his desk and write off the rest of the day. Instead he apparated into his lab and went about checking on the few potions he had brewing. There were always potions to be brewed—salves and pain relievers for Poppy’s infirmary, darker things for the Dark Lord. He kept himself busy well into the night, chopping and measuring and stirring ingredients with a practiced ease that he could rely on to keep himself distracted. In here the rest of the world drifted away until nothing else mattered. Seconds, minutes, hours passed behind the waft of fumes from the heat of his cauldron. The tension in his back unwound and he felt himself begin to relax, inch by inch.

It wasn’t until he heard the heralding crack of apparation in the adjoining room that he even looked up from his work, immediately on alert. His eyes slid to the clock on the wall taking note of the time as his hand reached blindly for his wand. Eleven pm, too late for a casual call. Perhaps Potter and the Headmaster back from wherever it was he had taken her? He was ashamed to admit he’d not even heard them leave, that in his desire to block Potter from his thoughts he’d shut out everything beyond the four walls of his lab. 

Severus sighed harshly. Must she impede upon every aspect of his life?

He heard the clatter of wood against stone, the murmur of an urgent voice and slipped his wand from its sheath.

“Oh my God!” a voice cried. Granger? What in Merlin’s name were Potter’s sidekicks doing in the kitchen at this time of night? Didn’t they have a home to go to? 

Severus reached for the door ready to storm out and send them packing back to the Burrow for the night. He had enough on his plate without having to deal with miscreant teenagers who didn’t think before they acted. 

“Miss Granger, call Madame Pomfrey immediately,” a familiar voice full of urgency called, “Where is Severus?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t seen him—”

“Albus?” Severus interrupted the Weasley boy, letting the lab door swing open to survey the scene unfolding in the kitchen. His unease rose as strained blue eyes bored into him, absent their usual twinkle. Albus’ expression was as grim and worried as he’d ever seen it, his mouth set in a hard line, strain pulling the corners of his lips down into a frown.

Something sharp and poisonous coiled itself in Severus’ stomach as he took in that expression.

The Headmaster beckoned him over and Severus crossed the room quickly only to draw up short as he saw what lay on the kitchen table, half cradled in Albus’ arms.

Merlin.

Fuck.

He felt his heart stutter in his chest and his blood run cold as he stared at the cold, lifeless body of Rosalie Potter.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I've been absolutely blown away but the response I've received for this fic so far! Thank you so much! I hope you all continue to follow the story as it unfolds. Let me know your thoughts!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Fourteen**

It was like swallowing acid as it hit her tongue full of razorblades and fire. She choked on it more than she swallowed as it burnt a fiery trail of thirst down to her stomach, ripping her insides to shreds in its wake. She wanted to die before she ever let it pass her lips again, yet her thirst was overwhelming and she opened her mouth obediently at the press of the cup. The poison festered inside of her as she took mouthful after mouthful, time after time till she was sure she would never come back from this.

Surely they were done? Surely she’d consumed all there was to consume? She could feeling the poison snaking its way through her, ripping through her body without finesse and dredging up all the worst kind of fear and anxiety that lived inside her; making it bubble outwards in a series of pitiful moans and treaties to stop. No more. _Please_ , no more. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t fathom one further drop passing her lips and adding to this unimaginable torture, but she felt the pressure of the cup at her lips and Dumbledore’s gentle guiding hand at the back of her head and dutifully she swallowed suddenly desperate for the liquid that would pass her lips and slake her thirst.

The agony was unending. 

The thirst unbearable.

The heat: caustic and chemical and a bitter green in colour.

Faces of her loved ones, past and present, flashed before her mind’s eye as gradually the cave slipped away until she floated with them, a gentle rocking calming her whimpers and sobs. 

Her mother was with her, Lily’s soft, warm hand cupping her daughter’s cheek lovingly as her thumb stroked over Rosalie’s cheek bone. Rosalie smiled, heartbeat slowing as she gazed lazily up into the warmth and love that shone in the eyes gazing down upon her. Rosalie parted her mouth to greet her, but no voice left her lips, no sound or air. Lily smiled tenderly down at her, knowledge shining in her eyes and Rosalie knew that they didn’t need words to communicate. Her mother’s understanding complete. There was a pressure building inside of her, expanding steadily until it encompassed her entire body, but it was easy to ignore and so she ignored it in favour of staring at her mother.

“Take a breath, sweetheart,” Her mother cooed gently, that lovely reassuring hand drifting down to rest on her upper chest, “In and out.”

Rosalie nodded and took a breath in and immediately the pressure eased somewhat, though it lingered benignly. 

“And again,” Lily guided.

Rosalie obeyed, frowning at the pressure lessened only to be replaced with an overwhelming sensation of nausea.

‘I’m going to vomit,’ She thought urgently, though she had no voice to warn her mother, ‘Merlin, I’m going to vomit on my mum!’

Pain ripped through her as her stomach twisted violently and she turned her head, just in time to expel the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Venomous green liquid singed the floor with an angry hiss, eating its way into the ground like acid.

“It’s for the best,” Lily whispered as Rosalie looked up at her with apologetic green eyes, but she was gone, fading away and Rosalie felt the desperation returning with her mother’s retreat, “In and out, my little Rosie. In and out.”

In and out.

Rosalie took a breath wanting to cry out for her mother not to leave her, but it was already too late. Lily Potter was nothing more than a vague shadow.

In and out.

Mechanically she took another breath.

In and out.

*

“Poison,” Dumbledore explained hurriedly, “We haven’t much time.”

Severus felt the breath rush back into him and his knees threaten to give out from beneath him, “She’s alive?” 

Severus took a faltering step forward, forcing his limbs to unfreeze enough that he could cross swiftly to Potter’s side. Though his face remained carefully blank, his heart was pounding out a rapid staccato in his chest, his hands clammy and shaking. She was as limp as a ragdoll as he pulled her body from Albus’ arms, her head flopping back unsupported to thump onto the hard wooden tabletop, but he forced himself to ignore it as his fingers pressed searchingly over her neck in search of a pulse. It was difficult to find, but it was there, just barely—weak and irregular. 

Severus swallowed thickly. 

She was feverishly hot to touch, though her skin was bone dry beneath his touch as his hand trailed down to rest on her chest. He bent over and listened for the small whoosh of air as it escaped past her lips and felt for the rise and fall of her chest beneath his palm. Her breathing was so shallow and laboured it was almost nonexistent, her chest barely moving with her respiratory effort. She was breathing though and a crippled kind of hope and fear began to churn uncomfortably in his gut as he forced himself into action. He sniffed quickly at her lips, frowning at the sharp, sickly smell that wafted from her lips. 

“What the _bloody hell_ do you think you’re doing, putting your hands—”

“Ron, please! He’s only—”

“She must purge what remains of the poison from her system,” Severus told them as he summoned a barrage of potions from his workroom, ignoring the loud protest of Potter’s friends as the Weasley boy yelled and snarled obscenities at him and Granger tearfully pleaded with him to calm down. He tilted Potter’s head back as he uncorked a noxious looking purple potion, pouring it down her throat unceremoniously. It welled in her mouth and spilled out past lax lips that were a dusky shade of death, forcing him to cover her nose and mouth and massage her throat in order to get her to swallow.

Severus rolled her onto her side, watching with satisfaction as almost immediately she purged what little remained from her stomach with a near violent force coating the table and floor in a foul smelling substance.

“Is there an antidote?” Dumbledore asked as he banished the emesis without fanfare, making anger churn hotly in Severus’ chest.

He glared darkly at the his mentor as he pulled a bezoar from within his robes and forced it into her mouth, holding his hand firmly over the seal of her lips and nose, forcing her to swallow once more to ensure it made it to the right place.

“I do not know, without first knowing which potion she ingested. There are several that fit the symptoms she is displaying. Not all are curable. Unfortunately, the poison is in its advanced stages. We...will have to wait and see,” he ground out tersely, his eyes never leaving Potter’s form as a small trail of blood began to leak from her nose.

“I was right to bring her to you,” Dumbledore nodded, speaking almost to himself.

Severus’ temper flared, “ _What happened_?”

The furious presence of Weasley felt silent behind him at the venomous hiss and Severus felt the full weight of the redhead’s stare fall on his back. Albus never flinched, staring the Potions Master down pointedly. Granger sniffed wetly, her voice wobbling as she spoke, “I firecalled the Weasley’s, Sir, and Madame Pomfrey.”

Severus ignored her, furiously pulling his gaze away from that of his mentor’s. Potter was still on fire beneath his hands, her skin taking on a worryingly mottled hue. It was entirely possible they were too late. That at this stage the bezoar wouldn’t be able to work as quickly at leeching the potion from her system as the poison was able to spread through her. 

Severus gasped inaudibly, breathless at the possibility. Such a notion was unthinkable—completely and utterly unacceptable—but he was forced to consider it as her breathing began to falter, the pause between each breath and the next getting more and more irregular as her colour turned deathly. 

Severus bit out tersely, hand snapping out a hand to grip roughly at her jaw, “Don’t you _dare_ , Potter. _Breathe_ , damn it!”

She obediently took a breath, before her chest fell silent.

“ _Adsum Inhalo_!” Albus incanted and Severus watched as her chest began to rise and fall with a mechanical regularity, “I am breathing for her now. We are running out of time.”

“The bezoar isn’t working quickly enough,” Granger whispered fearfully.

“I am aware of that,” Severus snapped, “We have precious little choice—”

“Bleed her!” Granger interrupted authoritatively, “Bleed her and transfuse her. Take my blood. My blood type is O negative—I am a universal donor.”

“Bleed her?!” Weasley gasped, “Now, hang on!”

“It could work,” Severus admitted, his gaze sharp as he mentally calculated the risk involved in attempting a total blood transfusion. It was a muggle practice, one considered barbaric in nature by the magical world at large, but it might just be their only option, “We will have to complete it over several hours to prevent sending her into shock.”

Granger nodded, “And I will need several vials of blood replenishing potion on hand.”

Severus nodded, “I have several in stock.”

“Are you bloody crazy?” Weasley gasped, “You’re talking about draining her of all her blood! She’ll die!”

“She’s barely this side of dead, as it is, you blathering idiot!” Severus snarled furiously, “What would you have me do?”

“Enough, Mr. Weasley, now is not the time. We all want what is best for Rose, and I trust Professor Snape wholeheartedly to do what he deems best,” Albus interrupted, “If you cannot control yourself, you will remove yourself from the room.”

The redhead seethed, but remained silent.

“We will need more than one donor, to keep up with the demand Rose’s condition has placed on us. You and I both, Severus, are out of the question, however. We cannot risk the taint: I, with my cursed hand, and you bearing the Dark Mark,” Albus continued at the same time the fireplace flared and spat out more redheaded Weasleys, “Ah! Impeccable timing Molly, we require assistance.”

Severus took a deep calming breath. Perfect. Just what everyone needed at this point—more Weasleys. Molly’s shriek of distress was like nails dragging down a blackboard in his ear and his irritation ratcheted up another notch. The Weasley matriarch tried to push her way through as she howled out her distress but Snape stood his ground, ignoring her grasping hands as they tried to yank Potter’s body out from underneath him. 

“Mrs. Weasley? Please, we need your help,” Granger interrupted, prying the desperate witch’s hands from Potter’s limp body. 

“We can help,” The Weasley twins offered after Granger had finished explaining to them what they intended to do. Molly looked as horrified as her son, but the twins stepped forward in unison, completely unfazed, “We’re both O negative, too.”

“Excellent,” Albus replied, “Then I propose we move this up to the infirmary while we await Madame Pomfrey’s arrival. Severus, if you could procure the blood replenishing potion, we shall make our way upstairs.”

Severus stepped back abruptly with a sharp nod; his hand falling from Potter’s overheated flesh, “Of course.” 

He watched with an odd sense of detachment as a mob of Weasley’s converged on Potter’s still form to help lift and carry her up to the infirmary the minute he was no longer looming over the top of her. Molly was sobbing and demanding answers even as she directed her posse of children up the stairs with their precious load, all of which Albus deflected with relative ease. Severus watched them go, his heart still pounding a mile a minute in his chest and strangely bereft.

He was shaking with fury and adrenaline and if he was honest with himself...fear. Horrible, gut churning, paralysing fear. Fear for Potter’s wellbeing. Fear that they were too late and poison would claim her life. Fear of what would happen if the Light lost their Chosen One... Fear of losing her.

The floo flared green again and Poppy came bursting out of the flames, her carry case in hand as she stared pointedly at Severus’ tense form. 

“Severus. I came as quickly as I could. Where is she?” Poppy hastened without preamble.

Severus ran a weary hand over his face pinching tightly at the bridge of his nose to try and ease the throbbing headache he could feel coming on.

“They took her upstairs,” He growled and the mediwitch hurried past him with a brusque nod and barely a second glance.

Suddenly the room was quiet and still and he realised with a start he was the only one still standing there, his gaze stupidly fixed on the point where Potter had disappeared up the stairs.

He sneered up after them.

Damn Potter. 

Damn Albus, too.

Spinning on his heel he marched himself back into his lab. The minute the door swung closed behind him the murmur of voices drifting down from the floor above was cut off and he was engulfed in relative silence. He stared at the multiple potions he had brewing under stasis spells and for the first time in his life felt displaced in his potions lab. Foreign. He wanted to throw something. Hit something. Hex something. Instead he turned around and with a sweep of his arm sent a tumble of books careening off the end of his desk. They hit the ground with an unsatisfying thump, landing in a jumbled heap that immediately made him only angrier, unfulfilled and feeling ridiculous for indulging in such an outburst. 

This would not do.

Pulling out his wand he waved a hand over the books, watching as they returned to their rightful position on the table. Striding across the room, he plucked several vials of blood replenishing potion from his stores and looked down at them in his hands.

This would not do. They would need more before the night was out. It was enough to get them started though and he could have another batch ready well before dawn. 

Calling Potter’s house elf, he had the decrepit creature deliver the vials to the mediwitch the above him and then turned to his work bench and picked up his brewing utensils. 

With a calming breath he banished the contents of his current brew. The Dark Lord could wait, he thought absently, and went to work on the mundane, while Poppy worked miracles the floor above.

*

Three days she was unconscious while her body fought against the remaining toxins that still raged through her system. The worst had past of course, Potter would live, but until her body had excreted the remnants of the poison that still lingered—mostly harmlessly—in her system, she would not regain consciousness. The blood transfusion had taken twelve hours complete, Granger and the Weasley twins each donating two or three times over the course of the night and throughout the next morning. It had been a gruelling process for all involved, but it had worked.

Now Severus was seething mad. 

Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, reckless schemes to come up with, he couldn’t for the life of him understand what had possessed Albus to agree to such a thing. What pure lunacy could prompt such an act as to spur them into believing it was _necessary_ for Potter to ingest a whole _basin_ of an unknown poison that had been left there by the _Dark Lord_?

Did her life really mean so little to her?

Did it mean so little to Albus?

Why did Albus insist on encouraging these bouts of misguided heroics that always almost got Potter killed? 

Severus snarled as his eyes flicked angrily to the woman lying motionless in the bed before him. What was it that they were keeping from him? Something important, certainly. Something so important it justified, in the Headmaster’s eyes, risking Potter’s life for the bloody cause. Perhaps something only Potter could achieve? His eyes drifted to the lightning bolt scar on Potter’s forehead for once unusually visible where her fringe—usually swept to one side to keep it hidden—had fallen away. It stood out in stark relief against the pallor of her skin, looking raised and irritated. She was undoubtedly extraordinary for her age, powerful and resilient, yet he sometimes wondered if Albus truly _saw_ Potter. Severus resisted the urge to touch her, to swipe her fringe back down until it covered that blasted scar once more, then he reached out and did it anyway. One little scratch and the world thought her invincible.

Severus tensed as he heard a creak coming from outside the infirmary door, the sound of weight shifting over aged timber floors. It was far too quiet to be the footsteps of the mediwitch returning from the much needed nap she’d left to take not even an hour prior, but too conspicuous in the otherwise silent night to belong to someone not trying to mask their presence. Immediately Severus was on his feet moving swiftly and silently from Potter’s bedside to meld himself into the long shadows that blanketed the room, almost vanishing from sight entirely as his black robes disappeared into the darkness. He didn’t need to wait long before the soft squeak of the infirmary door reached his ears and he watched, his body coiled tight in anticipation, as their late night visitor crept quietly into the room.

Weasley. Typical.

Severus relaxed and sneered at the redheaded boy as he shot across the room on silent feet until he was occupying the space Severus himself had only just vacated, sinking down into the armchair which had been pulled up to Potter’s bedside and taking up her limp hand in his tenderly.

‘Perfect,’ Severus thought scathingly.

He was a hairsbreadth away from revealing his presence, verbally chewing the boy out and booting him from the premises when the boy began to talk quietly.

“Why do you always get yourself in these kinds of messes, huh?” He asked Potter’s unconscious form quietly, his voice as quiet and withdrawn as Severus had ever heard it, “You’re not making it easy for me to love you, I feel like my insides are being constantly torn to pieces with worry over you.”

Severus’ eyebrows arched speculatively at that. Love her? Weasley fancied himself in love with Potter? Severus smirked. How priceless. 

“Not that you’d know that, of course,” Ron sulked, “You never let me pin you down long enough to bloody tell you! That and Snape’s always getting in the way and making us fight.”

Severus fought the urge to smile viciously at that, absurdly pleased that he’d managed to cause such an obstruction to ‘young love’, even if unknowingly. He didn’t care how immature it was; he still got a kick out of riling the hot-tempered teen up. Weasley was so full of misplaced pride and arrogance, so quick to snap first and ask questions later that it was almost too easy.

“I promised myself that I wasn’t going to wait anymore though,” Ron declared fervently, “as soon as you’re awake, I’ll tell you how I feel. I’m not going to let another opportunity pass me by, even if it kills me. I love you, Rose.”

The redhead reached out slowly running his hand over the top of her head, his fingers tangling themselves in those silky black tresses, before brushing back her fringe again, purposefully exposing that wretched scar once more. Severus ignored the way his gut clenched at the sight of it. Anger swirling through him as the redheaded boy seemed transfixed by it, his pale, freckled fingers tracing it reverently. It wasn’t Potter, the boy loved. It was the Girl-Who-Lived. Severus had seen enough, his eyes flashing in annoyance as the Weasley boy’s body lurched forward suddenly, awkwardly so that he could press sloppy lips to Potter’s forehead. He landed the kiss right over that cursed scar, lingering nauseatingly as he shut his eyes in apparently bliss.

The boy had no concept of the word.

“Molesting unsuspecting women in their beds at night while they lay comatose and defenceless? How underhanded of you, Mr. Weasley. One can’t help but wonder what your mother might have to say about that?” Severus intoned darkly, his voice smooth as silk as he stepped out of the shadows to seemingly appear at the foot of Potter’s bed.

Weasley startled and jumped back from Potter’s body guiltily, spinning around at the sound of his teacher’s voice. Severus stamped down the urge to smirk in amusement.

“Snape!” He exclaimed in shock, before blue eyes narrowed nastily at him.

“Guilty conscience?” Severus drawled.

Weasley blushed but is angry gaze never wavered, “I-I wasn’t _molesting_ anyone!”

Severus merely arched an eyebrow.

“At least I have a reason to be in here, what the hell are you doing lurking around Rose’s bedside. Come to finish the job?” the redhead hissed scornfully.

“If you recall, Mr. Weasley, which I realise must be difficult for someone of your intelligence, I helped saved Miss Potter’s life. A wasted effort if I intended to turn around and kill her again not three days later. Clearly this is a concept beyond your level of intelligence,” Snape replied aiming a dark glare down at the boy, “I merely came to investigate the intruder who was sneaking around in the dark at two am in the morning. Imagine my surprise when I came to find _you_ , no doubt here to commit any number of depraved unspeakable acts on an unsuspecting victim. Would you like to tell me again, your so-called reasons for being here?”

Weasley spluttered angrily, “Depraved? How dare you, you bastard! I would _never_ hurt Rose!”

Snape arched an eyebrow sceptically, “Then why, pray tell, could your visit not wait until morning?”

The boy’s whole face seemed to flush red, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Actually, Mr. Weasley, you do,” Severus informed him curtly.

“Yeah? Well you can go fuck yourself, you Death Eater scum,” Weasley spit out viciously, “You might have Rose fooled into trusting you—liking you, even—but you don’t fool me. You’re not my Father and right now you’re not even my teacher. I owe you nothing and I’m not telling you shit.”

Severus sighed, “Foolish, Mr. Wealsey.”

Fifteen minutes later the redhead was being frog marched back home via the floo by his father where his mother was no doubt waiting and ready to give him an earful. Severus smirked with satisfaction. That had felt good.

Severus made his way back through the house to the infirmary, stopping however, when he noted the oil lamp on the mediwitch’s desk was lit once more and the plump woman was faithfully back at her station. Severus tried telling himself the disappointment filling him was actually relief, that he’d only found himself at Potter’s bedside in the first place so that _someone_ had been watching over her while the mediwitch had been indisposed. Now that Poppy was back, there was no longer need for him to linger unnecessarily. 

Severus turned and made his way back to his room, determine to get a couple hours of sleep if only to alleviate the fatigue that suddenly seemed to weigh him down. His lingering amusement from humiliating Weasley was already fading, replacing itself once more with the anger and frustration he’d felt since Albus had apparated into the kitchen three days ago with Potter in tow, looking for all the world like she was already dead.

Severus grit his teeth, refusing to let his mind once more rehash the events that had unfolded that night. It changed nothing. Potter was alive and recovering. Why couldn’t he just forget the mottled pallor of her skin, the bluish tint that had tainted her lips and the skin around her mouth, or the way her body had sagged in Arthur’s arms so lifelessly as they carried her away from him? The unnatural heat of her skin under his hands as he’d passed the bezoar—the one he always carried with him—into that cyanotic mouth. Thank Merlin for Granger’s quick thinking—though he’d she’d never hear him admit to it. Thank Merlin he’d been so readily available when they’d first arrived.

Severus felt anger grip him with fresh potency at the Headmaster’s obvious lack of planning and foresight in executing this so-called ‘mission’. It was pure luck that Rosalie Potter was still alive. She had been mere minutes away from death or irreversible damage. 

How dare she risk her life like that! How dare Albus!

Severus snatched up his bottle of scotch, pondering furiously the ease with which Potter drove him to drink. Slumping down in his armchair by the window, he forwent a glass and drank straight from the bottle, knowing deep down, that this wasn’t rational or healthy behaviour but deeming his need for the numbing effect of alcohol greater in that moment than the call of his bed. He would have words with Rosalie Potter when she regained consciousness and force her to see the idiocy of her actions as the Headmaster refused to listen to reason. Perhaps then he’d be granted a little peace of mind? Perhaps then he’d be able to rest? Until then, it seemed he was doomed to find his solace in the bottom of a scotch bottle.

*

It was dark when she awoke, the house quiet. Moonlight was streaming in through her open window, and she thought it odd that she left it open when she’d gone to bed. Rosalie swallowed coarsely, a grimace rippling across her face. She felt like she’d been ill—her whole body ached, her throat was burning and her head pounding with a headache—and yet, the last that she recalled she’d felt fine. In fact, the last thing she recalled was that horrible training session with Snape and she felt her heart drop as she was reminded of the fact that he seemed determined to hate her again.

“You’re awake.”

Rosalie startled at the sound of her pseudo-godfather’s voice.

“Remus?” She grated, wincing again at the pain in her throat. She felt like she’d spent the all night screaming.

The werewolf’s face swam into her vision. He looked tired—more tired than usual—and it was only then that she realised he must have been sitting at her bedside. Her eyes scouted the room with more interest and she deduced quickly, that she was in the room Madame Pomfrey had set up as her infirmary at Grimmauld Place.

“Shh,” Remus chided softly, “try and rest your voice. It’s going to take a little longer to heal unfortunately and you shouldn’t strain it.”

Rosalie frowned.

“What happened?” She whispered heeding his advice, noting that it was easier to talk when she didn’t try and force the sound past the grating rawness of her throat.

“You don’t remember?” Remus asked, his hand coming up to sweep over the crown of her head affectionately. Comfortingly.

“You drank a whole bowl full of poison, Rose,” Remus told her, his tone an odd mixture of exasperation and disbelief, “The Headmaster took you on a mission—”

Suddenly the events of the afternoon came rushing back, her trip to the cave with the Headmaster, the small boat, the poison, the horcrux! Her hand absently lifted to her throat in remembrance. She could still feel the acidic burn of the potion as it slid down her oesophagus and the emotional upheaval it had evoked in her. The thirst. She had been so certain that that had been it for her—that she was dying. 

‘Apparently not,’ she thought, smiling slightly in relief.

“To the cave,” Rosalie interrupted with a nod, “Yes, that’s right. I remember now. Drinking the poison he’d left was the only way to get at it.”

“Get at what?” Remus asked, searching her eyes like they held the key to the meaning of life.

Rosalie just shook her head, silently telling the wolf that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell him. He looked put out that she’d shut him out so abruptly and she felt a niggle of regret that she couldn’t tell him more. She had the distinct impression that she’d been unconscious for at least a couple of days, if Remus’ haggard appearance—at least more haggard that usual—was anything to go by, and she felt bad for stonewalling him.

“I’m not allowed to say,” She whispered truthfully, “Sorry.”

Remus sighed, and stroked her hair back from her face again, “I understand.”

Rosalie nodded her thanks, “What time is it?”

“Almost sunrise,” Remus told her, as his eyes briefly left hers to glance out the window, “You’ve been unconscious for four days. I would have been here sooner if not for the full moon preventing me the first three. I’m sorry.”

Rosalie smiled, “You don’t need to apologise, Remus. It’s fine. I’m fine. And it’s not like you could have done anything for me anyway.”

Remus looked away, “I know. Only, I feel like I’m never there for you when you need me and I want to be there for you, Rose. I know I can never replace your father, or even Sirius, but your all the family I have left. I want you to feel like you can rely on me, like you can tell me the things that are bothering you...”

“It’s not like that, Remus,” Rosalie rushed to reassure him, “Dumbledore told me I wasn’t allowed to say anything. It’s all very top secret. I would tell you if I could. I promise.”

Remus shook his head, “It’s not that, Rose.”

Rosalie frowned.

“I can tell something’s been bothering you lately, ever since the attack you, Ron and Hermione faced in the Forbidden Forest,” Remus told her plainly, his voice low and calm, “It’s fine if you don’t want to open up to me, that is your decision to make, of course. But it was painful to see you so clearly upset over something and not be able to help you.”

His soothing tone and gentle eyes made her feel like shit for neglecting him so. He was family, after all, and she felt like the only time she every really saw him was at meals and her training lessons which was appalling given the fact they lived together for a good fifty to sixty percent of each week. There was no way in hell, of course, she was telling him about her and Snape, but she felt like the world’s biggest bitch for making him feel like she didn’t trust him, because she did. She trusted Remus with her life.

“It’s not that Remus, I trust you. I do. You’re family to me. The only family I’ve got,” She told him sincerely, “I guess I was just...scared, from everything that happened in the forest that night. Being trapped by the fire and all and I guess I just turned that fear into anger.”

Remus looked like he didn’t really believe what she was saying, which was a fair call, she admitted to herself, since her anger had had nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with her confusion and hurt over Snape’s abrupt dismissal of her after such an intimate encounter. The only one of its kind she’d ever had. The very thought of it made her chest ache with tightness.

“And Snape?”

Rosalie tried not to blush, “What about him?”

“His week long absence from Grimmauld Place seemed to coincide with your, ah... ‘meltdown’,” Remus prompted softly.

It was sheer force of will that Rosalie was able to keep the blush that was threatening from rising to colour her cheeks.

“Yeah, well...” Rosalie began awkwardly, “He wasn’t too happy with the situation I managed to get myself into, I guess, especially when I wouldn’t tell him why I was there in the first place. I just assumed he was angry with me...and I was angry at him, for being angry with me...”

Remus nodded slowly.

Behind her, the sun was just beginning to turn the sky pink with morning light and Rosalie watched as it slowly began to light up the room with a pink hue, feeling awkward and unsure as both she and her godfather sat side by side in silence. She was pretty sure he knew she was lying, and she was also sure the he knew that she knew. There was nothing to be done about it though, how could she explain what she didn’t understand herself?

Remus leant over and kissed her forehead gently, “I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey.”

Rosalie watched him leave, the sick feeling in her stomach growing with every step he took. She felt like she’d failed some sort of test, just now, by refusing to open up to him like he wanted her to and she felt certain their relationship would be irrevocably altered in some way because of it.

Rosalie spent the rest of the day hiding in bed, for once not fighting Madame Pomfrey’s orders to rest. She’d have preferred to be up in her own bed, but Madame Pomfrey was unsurprisingly good at keeping her visitors to a minimum which she was grateful for, shamelessly avoiding both Remus and her friends as best she could. She’d feigned sleep earlier that morning when she’d heard Ron and Hermione’s voices in the hall, oddly reluctant to face their endless questions and accusations. She felt beaten down by everything that had happened in the last two weeks, tired of fighting with people, disappointing people and generally failing to be anything but a never ending nuisance. She’d been mentally attacked, almost molested, nearly burnt alive, been the cause severe and lasting damage to a notoriously vicious werewolf, lost her virginity, been outstandingly rejected, almost died for the sake of locating a horcrux and managed to alienate the closest man she had to being a father-figure. Rosalie sighed, wondering if other people’s lives were ever this difficult. She knew she was simply wallowing in an astounding bout of self-pity, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Tomorrow she’d regroup and face the world again, for now she was content to avoid everyone like the plague and drown herself in her misery. 

She resolutely kept her eyes shut and her breathing even as her friends had sat at her bedside for an hour, their voices low and hushed as they chatted between themselves over nothing of consequence. She’d been shocked when Ron had reached out and threaded his fingers through hers intimately when Hermione had left them alone for a time to use the bathroom, but she’d forced her had to remain limp in his as he caressed her hand with his thumb.

“Alright, up with you,” Madame Pomfrey ordered as she entered the room carrying a tea tray in her hands. Rosalie’s stomach grumbled audibly at the scent of food and she flushed with embarrassment. “You’re been lolling about in bed all day, which isn’t like you. Especially when you’re as good as recovered—or there about.”

Rosalie offered her a weak smile and pushed herself up to sit against the headboard. The burning in her throat was almost gone, though her voice was still gravelly and uneven, which was expected given the damage she’d done to her throat. Madame Pomfrey had told her earlier in the day that she’d had to regrow the delicate lining of her oesophagus due to the damage that had been caused by the caustic properties of the poison, which would leave it tender for a couple of days to come, but would eventually heal.

“Eat this and then I want you dressed and out of here. You’re usually climbing the walls by now and it’s no fun if you actually _want_ to be here,” the mediwitch teased with a wink.

Rosalie smiled, “You’re right. Sorry—”

“Ah! Rest your voice!” The mediwitch chided, cutting her off midsentence, “No talking above a whisper for the next twenty-four hours, Miss Potter. Understand?”

Rosalie nodded.

“Sorry,” she whispered, offering her a small grin of contrite.

“Better,” the mediwitch agreed, straightening out Rosalie’s bed as the teen began to eat, “And, Rose? Try to stay out of my infirmary for at least a month this time, if you think you can?”

Rosalie smiled, “I’ll try.”


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Fifteen**

Rosalie hid in her room for the remainder of the day feigning sleep until Grimmauld Place was still and silent once more. Then, once she was sure Ron and Hermione had left and Remus’ snores could be heard from all the way down the hall, she threw back the covers of her bed and swung herself upright. She balanced herself on the edge of the bed for a moment, blinking away the slight dizziness that lingered as a result of such an abrupt manoeuvre and took a steadying breath. She felt caged and restless from having spent the whole day in bed trapped with nothing but her thoughts, but now there was no one left in the house for her to avoid and she felt anxious to get up and _do_ something—anything. Physically, she felt fine and although she’d been given strict orders to rest, she figured Madame Pomfrey likely knew she wouldn’t be able to sit still for long. In any case, she couldn’t stay locked away for another second, her thoughts going round and round in circles without rest—Remus foremost in her thoughts. She’d never felt the weight of someone else’s disappointment so keenly upon her shoulders. She’d never _had_ someone to disappoint like that before. Not until Remus, and now she’d let him down. Failed him. She just didn’t know how to open up to him the way he wanted her to, though. She couldn’t tell him the things he wanted to know. She didn’t _want_ to, even if he did make her ache with the need to say something— _anything_ —to wipe the disappointment off of his face.

And then there was Ron. 

Rosalie sighed. She didn’t even want to consider what the hell was going on with her friend. When they weren’t arguing over Snape, Ron was starting do things that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a look or a touch, like the way he’d held her hand that morning, and she didn’t want to have to deal with what those things might mean.

Rosalie groaned, her thoughts driving her from her room.

As if she didn’t have enough to deal with already! Voldemort, the Horcruxes, Snape...now Ron had feelings for her?

Rosalie made her way downstairs to the basement kitchen forcing herself to put thoughts of Ron and Remus from her mind as she began to work her way around the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil on the stove and making quick work of the few dishes that were stacked beside the sink.

“Potter.”

Her back stiffened and Rosalie shut her eyes as the sound of his voice washed over. She took a deep calming breath and felt a pleasant shiver pass over her as the subtle scent of sandalwood and spices engulfed her. Her stomach flopped over wildly and the hair on her arms stood on end with awareness, attuned to his every movement, as he swept further into the room.

‘Just what I need,’ she thought sarcastically, ‘Snape, for the trifecta.’

“Professor,” she grated out, wincing at the sound of her own voice as she opened her eyes and turned reluctantly to face him. He looked tired and strained and his gaze was penetrating, but she met it with her own, unable to determine the emotion that was staring back at her.

“A word?” Severus ground out as he glared at her.

Rosalie frowned, irritation bubbling up at his brusque manner. So he was still determined to put distance between them by treating her like shit, then. She might have guessed as much. Clearly nothing had changed between them in the four days since she’d seen him last. It made her chest _ache_ and anger churn hotly in her stomach. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

Clenching her jaw she turned her back on him to where the kettle was screaming at her from the stove.

“Why? Do you want to yell at me some more? Or are you done with that and think ignoring me is the way to go after all?” She seethed, her voice cracking and grating horribly as she grabbed at the kettle. A surprised hiss of pain escaped her as she accidently splashed herself with scalding water in her haste and she pulled her hand out of the way, pressing it tightly against her lips.

“I wish to discuss neither,” he started. 

Rosalie saw red.

“Of course you don’t. Well tough, ‘cause that’s what _I_ want to discuss,” She retorted glaring back at him furiously, slamming the kettle down and narrowly missing scalding herself a second time as water sloshed out of the spout, “Let’s talk about how you decided avoided me for a week after we had sex because you found the act so _distasteful_. I want to talk about that!”

Snape snarled and grabbed her arm, throwing a look over his shoulder at the open doorway before pulling her across the room to his laboratory. Rosalie stumbled along behind him under his grip. The grasp of his hand was tight, though not so hard as to hurt, but Rosalie could feel the anger in it and it matched her own. She was done with him treating her like she was shit. Not after everything they’d been through.

Rosalie snatched her arm back off of him as he pushed her into the lab and followed her across the threshold before slamming the door in their wake.

Rosalie pressed her lips together angrily and glared at him.

“Well? Nothing to say, Snape?” She snarled through her husk of her voice as she watched him throw up a couple of wards and a heavy duty silencing charm before spinning to face her. His face was hard and unflinching and she held her breath in preparation for the tirade she had no doubt was about to be unleashed upon her.

“Do you think of nothing beyond your own slighted feelings? The implications of our involvement are far more reaching than your own bruised ego. I thought it best that we each put some space between us,” Snape replied stiffly.

“Oh?” Rosalie bit back, “And it never occurred to you to ask me how I might feel about that? How it might feel knowing that the first person—the _only_ person—I’d ever been with was avoiding me like the plague without any explanation? Somehow I think these ‘implications’ are just a convenient excuse for you to hide behind! Was I that bad? Is that it? Was ‘little virgin Potter’ not good enough for you?”

“I am not having this discussion with you, Potter,” Snape told her resolutely, his glare fiercely dark.

“I’m not giving you the choice!” Rosalie denied, her tone a sharp hiss, grating like sandpaper against her windpipe. 

Snape sneered at her.

“I trusted you,” She breathed, “More than my friends, more than Remus and even Dumbledore, I trusted you. You know everything there is to know about me. So, yes, it would have hurt to find out you looked at me as some kind of mistake or something to regret, but I still would have preferred that than having my footing ripped out from underneath me. Instead you just didn’t show up, and when you did you treated me like I was worth less than the dirt beneath your feet.”

“You are acting like we’re lovers. I owe you nothing, Potter,” Snape told her harshly as he rounded on her.

“You’re right, but I thought we were friends,” She scoffed sarcastically, “I don’t know what I was thinking...”

Snape stared at her stiffly, “You are correct, I have come consider you...a friend, I suppose. For that you have my apologies. But you must understand, what happened between us was wrong on a number of different levels, not the least of which I am your teacher, and as—”

Rosalie cut him with her glare, “ _Don’t even_. I’m not your student any longer. We are not at Hogwarts.”

“Not at Hogwarts? Do you really believe that has any bearing on the situation?” He sneered, “You are the bloody Girl-Who-Lived, seventeen years old and my student! I robbed you of your virginity on _school property_ and relished every minute of it. What do you think Dumbledore—or your public—would have to say about that?”

“I don’t bloody care what they think!” Rosalie fumed, “I am seventeen—legally an adult. I’m no longer a student of Hogwarts—no matter how much you’d like to believe otherwise—and I can make my own decisions. It’s not anyone’s business, including Professor Dumbledore’s, who I’m with!”

“You’re naivety just goes to show you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” She repeated in a sarcastic hiss, “Merlin. Tell the truth, Snape. If I disgusted you or disappointed you so much, there were other ways to go about letting me down gently. You know as well as I do, that legally there is no barrier to what we did, stop trying to create one to hide behind.”

Snape backed her up against the wall, crowding in against her, “Don’t put words in my mouth, Potter. If I was disgusted at the idea of you I would never have touched you. Did I not just say I relished every minute I was inside of you? The thought of that night leaves me hard and aching, but if anyone knew—”

“We don’t owe anyone anything.” She breathed out with determination.

“You’re a fool if you think anyone else believes that.” 

They were standing so close. She was practically pressed up against the wall as Snape loomed over the top of her and for a second she thought that he might kiss her again. His eyes dropped to her lips and Rosalie held her breath waiting, _wanting_ him to lean into her. Wanting it with everything she was.

When it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen, Rosalie gritted her teeth and turned her head away in anger. Planting her hands on his chest she pushed, sending him stumbling backwards a pace.

“I’m going to bed,” She snarled hoarsely, brushing past him impatiently.

“We’re not done here,” Snape told her, a hand grabbing her upper arm again, preventing her from leaving.

“Yes we are,” she snapped, attempting to shake him off, “I’ve said everything I wanted to say. I think you have too.”

“I think not,” Severus hissed enraged once more, pulling her back to him, “You almost died four days ago. Your wilful disregard for your own life is beyond mortal comprehension! A few minutes more and you would have been lost to us!” 

Rosalie paused at the sudden change in subject looking back up at him and the rage that was twisted across his face. The fear? His eyes were dark and tumultuous, his eyebrows draw down tightly and his mouth a hard line. He was furious at the thought of her perishing and it made something inside her break as the anger drained out of her, “I know, but it was necessary.”

“Do not insult my intelligence.”

Rosalie slid her arm out of his grip again and turned to face him fully, “Better the war loses me than Dumbledore. He is the centrepiece of the Light’s resistance. Who would step in and fill his shoes if he were to die?” 

Rosalie shook her head, “We didn’t know what the poison would do, only that he shouldn’t be the one to drink it.”

Snape scoffed.

“It would be a great loss, indeed, if Dumbledore were to perish in this war. Your death, however, would signify the death of all hope. You are, after all, the Girl-Who-Lived. Without you, there _is_ no war. The Dark Lord will have won.”

“No,” Rosalie replied softly, shaking her head, “That’s not true. There are those that would continue to resist him. Once the Prophecy has been—”

“Fuck the bloody Prophecy,” Snape snarled and suddenly Rosalie found herself stumbling backwards until the hard ledge of the table behind her was pressing into the back of her thighs as Snape crowded in against her and took her mouth with purpose.

A startled sound of surprise escaped her, her body stiffening under his sudden advance as her arms made an aborted attempt to ward off his attack, his lips claiming hers with a bruising intensity. Then she was flowing into him, melting into his embrace as her mind caught up with the suddenness of the advance and she was kissing him back just as urgently. Her hands slid up his chest, twining around his neck to fist in his hair as his hands flexed over her hips and knotted in the soft material of her dress.

Fireworks were erupting behind her eyes; her heart pounding hummingbird fast inside her chest, sending pleasure rocketing through her veins with every beat of her heart even though she _knew_ she should probably be protesting. She should be pushing him off of her, stopping things before they went too far—again—and he broke her heart, but she wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted it even though she knew it would only end badly when he pushed her away again. Her memories of that night paled in comparison to the reality of his hands on her body and the rush of adrenaline he sent pulsing through her veins and weren’t enough though. Not now. Not ever.

Talented fingers tugged her underpants from her body before they found slick heat, making her moan and spread her legs wider. 

Rosalie gasped softly into his mouth, desperate hands pulling him in closer. He came willingly, until they were pressed chest against chest, his breath hot against her neck as Rosalie pushed at his robes, parting them and sliding them from his shoulders in quick movements. 

The minute his arms were free his hands were on her thighs, hoisting her up onto the table behind her and sending dusty tombs clattering to the floor in their wake. 

Rosalie knotted her legs around his waist her forehead coming to rest against his as she felt his cock slide over her opening, slipping easily through her arousal to prod at her entrance bluntly. 

They groaned simultaneously.

“ _Please_ ,” She breathed, pressing the words into his mouth.

“Potter,” he ground out hoarsely as long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, this thumb inching out to prop up her chin, angling her face into his as he hovered just outside of her entrance. 

“Please,” She whispered again, her lips brushing his as she caught his gaze in hers, “Severus...”

He sheathed himself inside of her as he claimed her open mouth. Rosalie whimpered into him, her fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his shoulders as he drove himself into her. Snape groaned loudly in response, the sound mixed part way between pain, pleasure and relief. They tumbled back into the pile of books behind her, his arm stretched out above her to brace against the wall as they quickly coiled themselves around one another in a tight knot of want and need. 

Rosalie clung tightly to him as he found his seat deep within her again and again, stoking the fire burning inside her thrust by thrust. She keened against him, completely overcome with the need to possess him, be possessed _by_ him, to mark and claim him. She took his mouth, again and again, her teeth finding his lower lip and tugging on it lightly.

Rosalie moaned as he pulled away from her mouth only to attach himself to her neck, biting and sucking—marking her as she’d so wanted to mark him. 

Snape gasped his pleasure against her flesh, his lips wet against her neck, “Rosalie...”

It was rough, passionate and she never wanted it to stop. It was life affirming after coming so close to death. Which she realised, as Snape continued to pound into her relentlessly, the table knocking into the wall behind them, his rhythm long and hard, was exactly what this was all about. It was his way of confirming to himself, to _her_ , that she was still here. 

“Rose,” Snape groaned again as she clenched her inner walls around him purposefully, his eyes finding and locking with hers as his fingers slid down between them, his fingers parting around his own girth as the heel of his hand pressed against the sensitive apex of her sex.

Rosalie rocked into his hand, her lips parting in silent pleasure as he pressed back against her. Her head fell back against the books behind her, narrowly missing the wall as her legs tightened around his waist, “Yes! Oh, Merlin...”

His fingers found her clit massaging it in quick circles, making her tighten around him like a vice as her pleasure reached a fevered pitch, her climax rushing over her, pulsing around him and wringing a strangled groan from his throat as he followed her over the edge.

Rosalie sagged back against the pile of books at her back sending another tomb tumbling from the table carelessly. Severus followed, his forehead falling forward to rest against her the nape of her neck, as she fought to bring her breathing back under control.

“I was the better choice. I’m younger and fitter and Dumbledore was far more capable of getting us both out of there alive than I would have been,” she told him, her voice wavering under the abuse she’d just put it through. That had been neither ‘taking it easy’ or ‘relaxing her voice’ as she’d been ordered to and it seemed she’d be paying the price as her voice threatened to give out on her all together.

Severus sighed, unable to muster the anger he’d worn like a shroud for the past week as though it too had been expelled from his body with his release. 

“A couple more minutes, Potter, and we wouldn’t have been able to save you,” Severus told her steadily, his voice like velvet, “You came too close.”

“I know,” Rosalie replied, her voice almost non-existent and they lapsed into an odd kind of silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just silent. He felt like a hypocrite. He was a hypocrite, lecturing her on all the reason their continued involvement couldn’t happen, yet falling straight back into her moments later in the rush of heightened passion.

‘Am I really doing this?’ Severus thought as he took a moment to examine what he’d just allowed to happen again. What he’d just _instigated_ again. Clearly self-control meant nothing in the face of Rosalie Potter. He’d spent the last fortnight tearing himself to pieces over previous lapse in judgement, and yet here he was, first chance he got, doing it all over again.

Damn it!

Her fire was all consuming. She made him forget all the reasons she was off limits. She made him forget the reasons why he should’ve been denying himself the nirvana of her body and instead made him abandon all his hard won self-control in favour of giving himself up to with utter abandon.

She was heat and softness in his arms; vanilla and the warm musk of arousal, her body loose with sated lassitude against his, her walls still cradling him within her warmth, pulsing intermittently in the aftershocks of their pleasure as he softened inside of her. The nape of her neck was damp with sweat where his fingers were curled in the silken lengths of her hair and the warm puffs of her breath were wafting pleasantly across his neck.

She was perfection in his arms.

Green eyes, dilated with satisfied arousal blinked up at him slowly as lifted his head from the softly scented skin of her neck. So expressive. So open. Severus looked down at her and took in the obvious beauty of her face—a face that still held a noted familiarity to him—and wondered when exactly he’d stopped thinking ‘Lily’ every time she looked at him and started thinking ‘Rose’.

Her apprehension was clear, as was the hurt she felt from his last rejection. Those eyes spoke to him more clearly than any amount of words could what she was feeling: Worried, anxious, soft, tender, sated...

His hand lifted of its own accord to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing over the damp plumpness of her lower lip.

Did he dare continue this?

He wasn’t even sure he even knew what the definition of ‘this’ was, but the resounding answer echoing inside of him seemed to scream ‘yes’ though he knew to do so would be a mistake. Severus lent into her, cupping her face in both hands and took her lips with his. She seemed to sigh into his mouth, accepting him readily. He rubbed their lips together languorously, enjoying the feel of her against him and the taste of her on his tongue.

“I don’t understand,” Rosalie grated out as she pulled back from him and Severus winced internally at the hollow husk of her voice, worse now that it had been an hour ago, “You made it clear that this wasn’t something that was ever going to happen again. That it had been a mistake...”

“It is,” Severus agreed. Yet here he was. Merlin, he was still inside her! Gently, he disentangled their bodies, feeling himself slip out of her wetly. She whimpered softly as he slid through her sensitive opening and carefully disentangled her legs from around his waist. She followed him up, smoothing the material of her dress down her legs shyly. 

They were both silent for a moment as they stared at one another appraisingly, her fatal green eyes flicking up to pierce him with wary indecision.

He wanted to again point out the fact that he was her teacher and that such familiarities were heavily frowned upon, though it almost seemed beyond significance at this point. Not when he still stood within the easy reach of her arms, his fly undone and his limp cock lying spent against his thigh, still wet with the evidence of their debauchery.

He chose not to elaborate. There were so many reasons why this was the worst idea he’d ever had. It was definitely the worst idea _she’d_ ever had. Standing there and discussing it wouldn’t change the fact that they’d already crossed that line. Twice—three times if you counted the kiss they’d shared in the library, which anyone damning them would. It didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t help but want to keep crossing that line. He was disgustingly weak willed in her presence.

Those eyes burned into him: desire, pain, confusion, want and understanding all mixed up in the emerald depths.

“I don’t care,” She whispered determinedly, though the sound barely making it past her lips and he knew that she would pursue this if he forced her. 

She wouldn’t have to.

He was going straight to hell, he realised, not for the first time since he’d allowed himself to fall into her temptation. He went easily as she drew him in knotting his hands possessively in her hair. This was probably the worst idea of his life. It would no doubt backfire spectacularly in his face in time to come, but common sense clearly had no say in the matter. She’d worked her way under his skin somehow and now he was unable to say no. One taste wasn’t enough.

This— _Rose_...she would be his undoing.

*

“The locket we retrieved, most unfortunately, was a fake,” Dumbledore told her as he handed her piece of jewellery. Rosalie took it with careful hands, the metal dull and cold against her fingers—lifeless. She was no expert, given her experience with any kind of horcrux was limited to the incident with Riddle’s diary, but it didn’t have the same feel to it that the diary had. The locket felt empty in her hands. It was just a locket.

“Definitely a fake,” she agreed, turning it over in her hands. Rosalie ran her thumb over the three letters engraved across the back of it: R.A.B.

“I must admit, I have no idea to whom the initials R.A.B belong,” Dumbledore admitted easily, “Whoever they were, they left this message inside addressed to ‘the Dark Lord’.”

 

_"To the Dark Lord,  
I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.   
R.A.B.”_

 

“The wording leads me to believe it was likely one of Voldemort’s followers, or at least a former follower who had defected from the cause,” Dumbledore continued.

“Do you think—” Rosalie began, frowning down at the locket and the small, aged piece of parchment Dumbledore had lain out on the desk before her, “There is a room upstairs—opposite Sirius’ old room—with his brother’s name on it: ‘Regulus _something_ Black’. I’m almost sure his middle name begins with an ‘A’, is it possible that _he_ might be our R.A.B.? He was a Death Eater, wasn’t he?”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, “He was. Regulus Arcturus Black.”

“Arcturus! So it could be him, then?”

“It could well be. I must admit I haven’t thought of Regulus in years,” Dumbledore murmured ponderingly. 

“He was a quiet boy in school, but also proud and respectful of those he deemed worthy, namely pure-bloods like himself. He idolized Voldemort and ‘the cause’ for which he fought. The perfect son in his parents eyes, unlike your godfather who was considered a disappointment to the name Black. There were whisperings around the time of Regulus’ disappearance of his defection, but of course nothing was ever proven. It was often speculated that he was murdered on Voldemort’s orders, but no body was ever recovered and thus his death always remained a mystery,” Dumbledore told her solemnly, “It is a good place to start our search if nothing else, but I would think it is very possible that Regulus Black could be the mysterious R.A.B.”

“So where do we go from here?” Rosalie asked once more, “We have no idea if he ever managed to destroy the locket or where it is now if he didn’t!”

“We will have to talk to those who knew Regulus best.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly, “Sirius is...gone, who else is there?”

Dumbledore gave her a pitying look over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, “There are still others we can speak to. Severus, for instance, knew Regulus quite well from their early days among Voldemort’s ranks.”

Rosalie nodded, forcing herself not to blush hotly at the mere mention of Snape’s name and the memory of it evoked inside of her. Not something she believed Dumbledore needed to know about.

“You plan to tell him, then? About the horcruxes, I mean?” She asked.

“Not if it remains unnecessary to do so. Severus is in a position where the acquisition of such knowledge could prove quite dangerous should anyone become the wiser. He knows this and therefore understands that there are some things I cannot or will not tell him. Perhaps, though, you can direct our Miss Granger into tracking down what she can on Regulus’ movements so that we might piece together a timeline of events,” the Headmaster continued, oblivious to her sudden acute spike of embarrassment.

“I’ll ask her when I see her, they’ll be around today at some point, no doubt,” Rosalie agreed.

Dumbledore nodded, “Good.” 

“Is that all then?” Rosalie asked.

“Yes, you may go.”

Rosalie smiled and pushed up from her chair, reaching out to lay the locket back on the desk.

“You may hold on to it, for now. See what Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger make of it,” he said, interrupting her action and so instead she slipped the locket into the front pocket of her jeans. 

“Thanks,” she offered with a quick smile.

“I’m glad to see you fully recovered, Rose, your voice notwithstanding,” the Headmaster offered solemnly, “I pained me to see you in such a state and to bear some of the responsibility for your arrival at such a juncture. I hope that you realise your bravery has not gone unappreciated.”

Rosalie nodded awkwardly, unsure how to respond to such a statement.

“It could hardly be helped,” She said finally, painfully aware of the rasping sound of her voice that was only somewhat improved from the day before, “It was necessary.”

Dumbledore nodded, “We did what we must.”

Rosalie left the Headmaster’s office and made her way through the quiet house. It seemed outrageously unfair that they could go through everything they’d endured to find one of Voldemort’s secret hiding places, yet not find one of his horcruxs. She felt deflated, disappointed and tired. It made her feel like an idiot for defending her risks so strenuously to Snape. How had what they’d done been _worth_ it when in fact all it had gained them was more questions? Who was R.A.B., if not Regulus Black? Where was the real locket now? Had it already been destroyed? Where did they even _begin_ their search?

It all felt too large, too impossible. Even if they did manage to figure out the mystery of Regulus Black’s disappearance, it didn’t mean it would lead them to the locket. Without it, however, Voldemort would remain ‘immortal’. 

Rosalie sighed and ran her hands over her face. This was a nightmare. 

She wasn’t surprised to find Ron and Hermione waiting for her when she entered her room, nor was she surprised by Hermione’s teary hug and gentle reprimands. Ron, though, looked like he might cry, which was somewhat out of character and he held her tightly when she offered him a comforting hug.

It reminded her, a little uncomfortably, of how he’d taken her hand in his yesterday when he’d thought she’d been asleep and held it cradled in his until Hermione had come back into the room.

“I’m okay,” she told them both earnestly, ignoring the way her voice cracked. It still sounded better than it had yesterday.

“Your voice!” Hermione moaned.

“You don’t think it’s sexy?” She joked, giving them both a teasing wink as she extracted herself from Ron’s arms. 

His face was a bright shade of red, from embarrassment or anger she didn’t know.

“Don’t joke about it, Rose,” He mumbled unhappily.

Rosalie sighed, “It isn’t permanent. Madame Pomfrey said it would continue to improve day by day. It’s already better today than it was yesterday evening.”

They both stared at her unhappily.

“You almost died,” Hermione whispered gravely.

“You _looked_ dead,” Ron added, “I thought you _were_ dead when I saw you! I’ve never seen anything so horrible in my entire life!”

“Professor Dumbledore was really worried; I’ve never seen him look so serious! It was a miracle that Professor Snape was here. He saved you’re life!” Hermione told her.

Ron snarled angrily and bit out curse, “Madame Pomfrey _saved_ her. You, Fred and George _saved_ her. Snape didn’t do anything but make her puke her guts out all over Dumbledore.”

“That’s a lie, Ron, and you know it. You’re just mad because he caught you sneaking in to see Rose in the middle of the night and called your mother!” Hermione snapped back in reply as if this was an argument they’d had more than once before turning back to Rosalie and adding: “I think Professor Snape thought you were dead too at first, but he _did_ help save your life, Rose. He made you purge what was left of the potion from your system and he made you swallow a bezoar. I don’t think you’d have s-survived if he...We wouldn’t have been able to save you if he hadn’t been so readily at hand. He bought us time to come up with a plan.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and lowered her gaze, “I’m sorry. It must have been horrible for you to have to see that.”

Ron nodded.

“Everyone was pretty upset,” Hermione agreed.

“We didn’t know going into it that that would happen,” Rosalie offered.

“Was it worth it?” Ron asked, his tone still solemn, “Did you get one?”

Rosalie sighed and shook her head, launching into the explanation of what had occurred. She told them of how they’d found the cave and Dumbledore had worked out how to gain entry. How they’d found the basin full of an unknown potion and the locket that lay at the bottom of it. How they’d quickly realised one of them would have to drink it to get at the horcrux and how she’s offered herself up as the better choice. 

She glossed over the effects of the potion and the blur of memories she had of the time following that. She didn’t know how they’d escaped, only that Dumbledore had managed to get her to relative safety and that she was alive and well.

Ron snorted at that but didn’t comment. 

Rosalie told them about the fake locket and the theories she’d hypothesised with the Headmaster that morning over whom the mysterious R.A.B might be and where the locket might be now.

“So what your saying is, the mission was a bust,” Ron stated bluntly, “You almost died for a fake horcrux and we have nothing to show for it but a _therory_ on who stole the locket!”

“It’s not ‘nothing’, we have a lead, which is more than we have on any of the other possible horcruxs,” Hermione retorted, giving Rosalie the impression that they’d been at each other’s throats again recently. Over what, she didn’t know or particularly care.

“Hermione is right,” Rosalie interrupted quietly, her croaky voice not allowing much more, “Dumbledore asked if you might be able to research Regulus Black and find out everything you can about him in the years leading up to his disappearance, Hermione. I’ll talk to Snape and see if he might know anything, since they knew each other back when they were both Death Eaters—”

“Which by all accounts Snape still is,” Ron muttered.

“Anything we can find out will help us narrow things down,” Rosalie continued, talking over her friend as if Ron hadn’t spoken. 

“I’ll try,” Hermione agreed with a nod, “But to be honest I don’t know how much I will be able to find, he went missing such a long time ago. I don’t know what I could possibly find that we don’t already know, or suspect.”

“Anything is a start.”

Hermione nodded, “Of course.”

“I still can’t believe it’s a fake,” Ron sighed.

“Has Dumbledore made any progress with the manuscript?” Hermione asked hopefully, her eyes alight with hope.

Rosalie shrugged reluctantly, “There hasn’t been much chance to talk to him about it, to be honest. With everything that’s happened, it didn’t even cross my mind.”

Hermione nodded, “He sent me a letter asking if I’d assist him in the research. I think he realises it doesn’t make much sense for both of us to be studying it independently. It’s unlikely I’d come across something he missed, after all, but if we combine our efforts it’s possible that we might generate some new ideas.” 

Rosalie nodded, “That makes sense, where will you be doing that?”

“At Hogwarts,” Hermione replied, “We just don’t have access to the same resources anywhere else. I’ve already been over the Black Library twice and there is nothing of substance that seems likely to help us. At Hogwarts I’ll have access to the Restricted Section and Dumbledore’s own collection—what he’s managed to gather on the subject anyway. Also, it’s less likely someone will happen upon us and discover our secret, Hogwarts is practically deserted in the summer.”

“Not for much longer. September first is rolling around quicker and quicker every day. What then?”

Rosalie already knew she wasn’t going to be returning for the school term, at least not this year and not while Voldemort was still alive and his Horcruxes undiscovered. Sitting her NEWTs seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. She couldn’t sit idly by for another year while Voldemort was out there murdering people and getting away with it. Though she would have the freedom to come and go from the school as needed, she would likely never again be a student there. Though, it occurred to her that they had never really spoken about it.

“I’m not returning for our Seventh Year,” Rosalie told them quietly.

Ron nodded, “We figured. Wouldn’t really make sense at this point.”

“Where you go, we go,” Hermione agreed, “Anyway, you didn’t really think you could do this without us did you?”

Rosalie grinned despite herself, “No. Definitely not.” 

“Well then, I guess that’s that,” Hermione said giving a satisfied nod, “Although, now that we’ve officially decided that this is what we’re going to do, I think we should come up with a strategy. Do we all stay here together? Or do you join us at the Burrow?”

Ron grunted, “The Burrow is out. Mum wouldn’t let us be for a minute. We’re going to need the freedom to do what we have to without her getting in the way.”

“Let’s just leave things as they are for now. I’ll continue my training and you continue your research. Once term starts, you can both join me here at Grimmauld Place. There isn’t much more we can do at the moment except try and solve the mystery surrounding the locket and work out what the next one might be.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t get progressively harder to find as we go along,” Ron sighed.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Sixteen**

The night air was still thick with heat though the sun had long since set as Rosalie made her way outside for some fresh air. It was comforting, in a way, like a warm embrace—gentle and supportive. It brought back memories of a time long ago before she’d ever known she was a witch or who Tom Riddle was and why he was trying to kill her. It made her feel less alone, and growing up with the Dursley’s, feeling less alone was about as good as she ever got. She’d curl up on her small cot under the stairs, sweat beading on her face from the stifling heat and imagine that her mother or father were lying beside her, holding her close and whispering they loved her.

It had been a beautiful illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.

Now she was seeking the solitude of the night after a long afternoon of Mrs. Weasley’s hovering and fussing. She loved the Weasley matriarch dearly, words couldn’t express what it meant to her that Ron’s whole family treated her as one of their own, but at times it was too much. She felt smothered with love and it killed her that she felt that way when there was a time she would have given everything she was simply to hear a kind word. 

Ron had proven to her why he was one of her best friend when he’d herded his mother into the floo after dinner with an apologetic smile and a promise to speak to soon and she felt grateful for his understanding. 

Crossing the small courtyard Rosalie stretched herself out across a small bench seat and gazed up at the clear night sky. The stars were bright tonight, sparkling against the deep navy of the night sky. 

So many stars. 

She’d always sucked at astronomy, but she knew enough to be able to find Sirius burning brightly in the night sky. Her heart ached at the thought of him. Some days she missed him so much it hurt to breathe, but every day it was getting easier and easier to think of him without feeling overcome by her emotions. Now they were trying to find his brother and it felt inevitable that she would think of her godfather. How could she not?

She smiled as she located Sirius in the night sky and allowed herself to dream for a moment that he might be looking down on her. 

“Where do I start, Sirius?” she breathed on a sigh. 

How on earth were they meant to track down a man, that was not only presumed long dead, but that no one had been able to locate, even in the first few months following his disappearance. What hope did they have of finding out what happened to him now? All they had were the initials R.A.B. and the name Regulus Arcturus Black carved into a bedroom door. 

Rosalie sat up abruptly with a curious expression on her face.

“His room...” she wondered, pushing herself to her feet and making her way back inside the house.

Surely someone had checked his room for clues? Only, she didn’t recall ever having seen _anyone_ go in there. Right?

The house was silent as she made her way up three flights of stairs on light feet. Regulus’ childhood room, like Sirius’ was on the topmost floor of the house. It was the smallest floor, compared to the rest of the house, with only the two bedrooms and a bathroom occupying its space. Now days, this floor went mostly unused save for the very occasional use of the bathroom at the end of the hall. Perhaps due to the fact that both Sirius and Regulus’ rooms sat like twin tombs flanking either side of the staircase as dormant reminders of the men that had once lived there and died too young. To her knowledge, no one had touched either of the rooms since Sirius’ death, and it seemed disrespectful in a way to disturb them now. But she wanted answers. She needed them, if she was ever going to find out what happened to the Horcrux which was stolen from the cave.

Rosalie paused in front of Regulus’ door to trail her fingertips over the name cared into the door curiously: R.A.B.

Gripping the handle and turning the knob, the door swung open easily leaving Rosalie to marvel at the state of the room. It was larger than Sirius’ had been, nicer too, but it was the immaculate condition that had her jaw falling open in disbelief. No dust; no moth ridden, Doxy infested curtains; no musty bedding. The wooden floor of the room was polished to a high sheen, reflecting her image back at her in the candle light. 

It looked like the man had just this minute left, though it carried a sense of vacancy that came from a room left long dormant. The bedcovers were still rumpled as if someone had recently been sitting on them and a book that was resting on his bedside table had the pages turned down to mark his place.

Rosalie felt like she was trespassing as she stepped cautiously into the room and began to scout her way around. There was a half written letter on the desk, simply addressed to ‘my friend’, which she let her eyes scan quickly and dismiss when it revealed nothing of consequence. The small bin beside his desk was empty.

No pictures hung on the walls.

No Dark Arts books lined his shelves. 

Nothing in this room hinted to his life as a Death Eater and yet she knew he’d occupied this space up until the time of his disappearance.

The wardrobe, when she opened it, showed all his clothes still hanging neatly before her, suspiciously dust free. How was this possible? Who would have—

Kreacher.

Of course.

Rosalie grimaced, the idea made her somewhat sick to think of. To think that all these years one decrepit, obsessed house elf had kept his favourite Master’s room meticulously clean while the rest of the home fell to ruin and disrepair. Home many hours must the elf have spent in here cleaning? Was it possible then, that the elf might know what had happened to Regulus? Or was this simply his way of coping and keeping his memory of Regulus alive? The latter seemed more likely and creepy enough for her to believe it was something Kreacher would do. He was only a house-elf after all. Rosalie tried to rid herself of the thought as she crossed the room to perch cautiously on the edge of his bed. The mattress groaned under her weight and she bounce on it once experimentally before lifting her gaze to scan the room.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find, but his room had revealed nothing.

Picking up the book on the bedside table she turned it over in her hands, chuckling in surprise when she noted the title: ‘ _Hogwarts, A History_ ’. It was cracked open on to a chapter on the Founders, a messy scrawl littering the page and margins. She frowned as her fingers traced over a picture of the Gryffindor Sword that had a large cross scrawled harshly over the top of it in red ink. He’d been angry when he scratched it out and Rosalie wondered if he’d been thinking of Sirius, the only Black to ever be sorted into Gryffindor house.

She flipped a couple of pages forward, noting that he’d made the same commentary and musings to both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. She knew little of the artefacts that belonged to either house, other than that they, like the Gryffindor Sword, also supposedly existed. She frowned as she noted the circle he’d drawn around the Hufflepuff artefact—a cup. It seemed vaguely familiar to her, large and ornate— 

“Rose?”

Rosalie frowned at the sound of Bill Weasley’s voice calling to her up the stairs.

“Bill?” She called back questioningly, putting the book aside as she stood up and made her way to the door.

Bill grinned up at her as she emerged above him on the staircase, “There’s my favourite Girl Wonder!”

“You know others?” She returned with a smile, before frowning at him in question, “What are you doing here?”

“Guarding you, of course! Snape was called and no one else was available, so tonight I’m it!” he explained as she drew level with him.

Rosalie frowned, “Snape was called? When?”

“A couple of minutes ago, I think,” He told her, “Not to worry though, I may not be as big and mean as out dear Potions Professor, but I’ll keep you safe."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and offered him the required smile, “Of course. Your mum would kill you if you didn’t.”

Bill sent her a knowing look.

“It’s not my mother I’m worried about,” He joked back as he slung an arm around her shoulders and led her back down into the lounge room where they made themselves comfortable opposite one another the couch, “You do realise my brother fancies himself in love with you, right?”

Rosalie flushed, “Who?”

Bill gave her a look.

“You mean Ron, don’t you?” she offered reluctantly.

Bill nodded with a grin, “That would be the one.”

Rosalie’s blush deepened with embarrassment, “I’ve kind of begun to get that impression too. Only I’d hoped I was wrong. I love Ron. He’s my best friend. It’s just that...”

“You don’t feel the same way?” He supplied for her.

Rosalie shrugged.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “That wasn’t what I was going to say though. I guess I just think Ron is more in love with the _idea_ of me, you know? Not the real life emotional and mental cripple I really am.”

Bill sighed, “I’m not sure you give Ron enough credit, Rose. He knows who you are.”

Rosalie shrugged again, “Maybe. It wouldn’t be fair on him though. I just don’t see him that way. He’s like a brother to me. You all are.”

Bill nodded, “That’s fair enough. There’s nothing you can do about it if it’s not there.”

Rosalie nodded, “I don’t think he’ll take it so well, somehow. I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t work up the nerve to confront me, because I don’t want something like that to come between us, you know? Somehow I always thought it’d be Hermione he’d fancy.”

“Maybe it will be one day.”

Rosalie nodded absently, not truly believing that it was as easy as Bill made it sound. Ron was prone to holding grudges and their relationship had suffered for it more than once in the years that they’d been friends. He hadn’t spoken to her for months over the Triwizard Tournament fiasco. For her to reject him, and then find out that she was kind of involved with Snape? She didn’t want to think about the fallout that would cause.

“So, you keeping yourself entertained?” Bill asked, glancing around Grimmauld Place sceptically.

Rosalie smiled, “It’s been ok. Mostly I’ve been having lessons from Snape and Remus. Occasionally Shacklebolt. There’s not all that much to do here.”

Bill chuckled, “I hear you.”

“I found this book on Healing though that’s really interesting,” She remembered after a beat. She’d been so busy recently that she hadn’t thought of the book in days, but every time she remembered it she found herself coming back to it again, “There are some really interesting spells in there that I thought could be useful to know given, well...everything.”

Rosalie remembered healing Snape’s face and how the skin had seemed to knit itself back together, “It’s already come in handy.”

“Already?” Bill repeated, “You managed to heal someone from just reading about the spells in a book?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, why? Hermione does stuff like that all the time.”

Bill shook his head, “I forget sometimes how powerful you really are. It takes a tremendous about of strength and focus to be able heal people. People don’t give Madame Pomfrey enough credit for the work she does. It requires raw power, Rose, which is why mediwizardry courses take a number of years to complete. It takes some wizards _years_ to accomplish what you did on your first try.”

Rosalie shook her head, “You don’t even know what or who I healed. It was tiring, but it wasn’t all that difficult. Not really. All I did was sew some skin back together.”

Bill chuckled, “You are truly amazing.”

Rosalie shrugged uncomfortably, searching for something to change the topic, “How’s married life treating you?”

Bill sigh happily easily diverted, “It’s great. Life is good, despite everything. Fleur and I bought a small cottage that we’re living in now. It’s right on the beach, away from everything and everyone. First thing we did was put it under the fidelius.”

Rosalie nodded happily, “I’m happy for you guys. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the attack that night at your wedding. They were there for me. I shouldn’t have even been there,” Rosalie apologised.

“Don’t. Nothing would have prevented that happening, Rose. It wasn’t your fault. You’re part of this family too,” Bill reprimanded with a scowl, “It wouldn’t have been the same without you there.”

“I’m still sorry your night ended that way,” She offered.

“I am too, but we’re in the middle of a war,” He replied seriously, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, “We knew there was a strong possibility You-Know-Who would attack. No one was killed. That’s all that matters.”

Rosalie nodded, blinking away the sudden watering of her eyes.

“So what’s next for you guys then?” She asked brightly, changing the topic again before she brought them both down.

Bill chuckled.

“Babies. At least if mum gets her way! She’d already banging on about them. We’re being careful though. Now’s not the time. We don’t want to be bringing up a child while there is still a war raging on our doorstep. It’s just not safe. Mum knows it too, but she just likes thinking about it, I guess. It takes her mind off of things.”

Rosalie froze, nodding mechanically as Bill spoke, as something suddenly occurred to her that should have a long time ago. Babies. She’d had sex, twice now, without taking any form of contraceptive measures—muggle or magical. Neither she nor Snape had cast the charms—at least not to her knowledge—nor was she taking any long term contraceptive potions.

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

He ‘ _finished_ ’ inside of her, too. On both occasions.

 _Merlin._

What if she was pregnant?!

The very thought filled her with dread. She couldn’t be. She _could not_ be pregnant. It simply was not an option. Not now. She felt dizzy and lightheaded and her stomach rolled threateningly. Severus would kill her. He’d probably assumed she was taking contraceptive potions as many women her age did and so hadn’t thought to ask. Not that either instance had been highly conducive to thought. 

Rosalie dropped her head into her hands. She needed to seem Madame Pomfrey. Immediately.

“Rose? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Bill asked worriedly, getting up from his seat to hover over her.

“I’m—”

What was she meant to say to him?

“I’m just not feeling very well all of a sudden. I think—”

“Do you want me to floo Madame Pomfrey? You look really pale,” Bill asked as he laid a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles into her hunched form. She wanted to cry. How could she have been so stupid?

“Yes,” She replied immediately. Thankful that he’d solved one problem for her, “Call her.”

Bill nodded, guiding her to lie back into her seat while he made the floo call, his face the picture of concern.

“I’ll just be a minute,” He told her before dashing across to the floo.

Her heart was pounding out a rapid rhythm against her chest and her nerves were making her stomach churn uncomfortably.

When had she last had her period? She was so irregular with her cycle that it could hardly be used as a valid indicator to pregnancy, but nevertheless it had been over a month at least.

Without thought her hand strayed to her lower abdomen before she realised what she’d done and jerked it away. It would be just her luck to fall pregnant the first time she had sex. A nervous, hysterical little giggle bubbled from her lips as she imagine herself taking on Voldemort in a duel to the death with a baby strapped tightly to her back, all black hair, green eyes and patent Snape-sneer in place. What would Dumbledore say? Or her friends? Remus? Mrs Weasley? 

A small whimper escaped her lips and Rosalie pressed a hand over her mouth tightly to muffle the sound. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. But how could she have been so unbelievably careless? How could _he_? Neither of them had been prepared for what had happened between them, but it was no excuse. This is how teen pregnancies occurred!

She sat up again as Bill returned with the mediwitch in tow.

“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” he offered, slipping out of the room again before either woman had the chance to reply.

Madame Pomfrey ran an assessing gaze over her form, “Rose, how are you feeling? What seems to be the problem?”

“Anything I tell you is confidential, right?” Rosalie asked nervously.

The mediwitch nodded her brows furrowing.

Rosalie let out a heavy sigh, nervously smoothing her jeans out across her the tops of her thighs and simultaneously wiping the anxious sweat from her palms as she avoided the mediwitch’s keen eye.

“I, ah...I had unprotected s-sex recently,” She said finally, a furious blush rushing up to stain her cheeks a vivid red, while her gaze fixed itself to the toes of her shoes, “Which is stupid, I know. _Believe_ me, I know. I wasn’t thinking, obviously, and now I’m worried there is a chance I could be pregnant.”

The mediwitch gave her a tight, disapproving stare, “I see.”

Rosalie stared up at her pleadingly, “I can’t be pregnant, Madame Pomfrey. I can’t. I need you to check, though.”

“Rose, even if you had been pregnant, the poison that you so recently ingested would have aborted any conception that might have taken place inside you. You are not pregnant.” The mediwitch explained matter-of-factly.

“And what about now, if I had sex...after I was poisoned, I mean?”

Madame Pomfrey sighed and took a seat beside her, “Well. That does change thing some, but to be honest, there will be nothing to see at this stage. It’s far too early to tell one way or another I am afraid. You might be pregnant or you might not.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and nodded, ignoring the stinging in her eyes and the burn at the back of her throat, “Oh, Merlin...” 

The mediwitch pat her leg gently, “I’ll give you a potion, which will cause you to pass anything that may have taken root inside of you—at this early stage, you won’t even notice one way or another as any conception will still be microscopic in size. It isn’t one hundred percent effective, mind you, but it’s pretty close and it’s the safest option at this stage.”

Rosalie frowned, but nodded her agreement regardless.

Reaching into her medical bag, the mediwitch drew out a small bottle of a dark blue potion and handed it to her.

“Take it with food and have an early night. Some cramping is normal, but nothing more severe than you’d expect to experience with your menstrual cycle.” Madame Pomfrey explained, her eyes scanning and assessing Rosalie’s face to ensure she was talking in everything that she was being told, “If I thought you’d have the time, I’d make you and your partner come in for sex education classes to remind you how important it is to play it safe. You are too smart to be making such silly mistakes, Rose, and I might add, that having intercourse after I told you to rest is not ‘taking it easy’.”

“I know,” She moaned pitifully, burying her face in her hands again. Trying not to imagine the look that would be on Snape’s face were she to tell him that he was expected to attend Madame Pomfrey’s ‘Safe Sex’ lectures with her. She’d rather face down a horde of angry Death Eaters.

“I’ll need to see you again in a couple of weeks to make sure you’re in the clear. We’ll make an appointment to meet again in approximately five weeks. We won’t know for sure until then unless you should get your usual cycle during that time, but even that can be deceiving.”

Merlin, she wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Okay,” Rosalie replied, her tone barely above a whisper and her mortification complete.

“In the mean time, if you intend to keep having sex it is important you do so safely. The potions are the most reliable method of preventing unwanted pregnancies. Do you know how to brew a contraceptive potion?”

Rosalie nodded, her face burning and her hands cool and clammy. If she couldn’t remember the process exactly, it wouldn’t be hard to find out at any rate, getting the ingredients would prove harder.

“Good. I have a small amount to tide you over until you’ve had time enough to brew your own batch,” the mediwitch continued, “Rose, I know you know made a mistake and you realise the possible consequences of your actions, but if you were to fall pregnant now, the results could prove catastrophic. No one truly knows what’s coming; you don’t need an added pregnancy on top of things.”

“I know, Madame Pomfrey, I do,” Rosalie replied earnestly, meaning every word she said, “It’s just at the time one thing led to another, things got a little out of hand and I guess it just happened. I’d never done anything before that, so I wasn’t prepared and I hadn’t been taking anything to prevent it. I will now though, regardless of what happens, just in case. I don’t need a baby to add to all the stress in my life. I have enough to handle as it is.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Make sure you speak to your partner about things also, though. It is as much his responsibility as it is yours.”

There was no way Snape was ever finding out about this. Ever.

“I will,” She lied, offering the older witch a tight smile.

“Good.” The mediwitch nodded, “I’ll see myself out.”

*

Brewing a contraceptive potion, on closer examination, was going to be harder than expected Rosalie realised as she contemplated her next move. Not only did she lack that ingredients she needed to brew the potion, but unless she attempted it in a steel pot on the stove she had nowhere to brew it. The thought of what Snape would have to say about that, should he ever find out she’d even contemplated such an option, made her shudder. Contraceptive potions required brewing in silver bottomed cauldrons, she knew that much, although she couldn’t recall why. Steel pots and cook tops were not an adequate substitute. Snape’s lab was out of the question though. As far as Rose was concerned, they weren’t at a point where discussing her contraceptive measures with him wouldn’t be awkward and embarrassing, and she wanted to leave him out of it as much as possible. It might lead to awkward questions that she wasn’t ready to share. The problem was that it didn’t leave her with many options. Hermione would ask too many questions and withhold help until she had the answers, and Rosalie didn’t want to listen to the lecture that would follow on making such a careless mistake to begin with or her lack of thought over sleeping with a teacher. Also, as much as she loved her friend, Hermione couldn’t really be trusted to keep her mouth shut when she didn’t agree with what she was being told.

That left purchasing one as her only viable option.

The question was, where from?

She didn't even know if the apothecary in Diagon Alley was even still open for business, nor did she know the price of such an item.

“Dobby!”

The little elf appeared with a small pop and toothy smile, “Miss Rosie Potter! Dobby is being so happy to see his friend again! What can Dobby be doing for you?”

Rosalie smiled, “I need you to go into Diagon Alley and get something for me. A potion. Only you can’t tell anyone it’s for me.”

“Rosie Potter is being unwell?” The elf asked with wide, worried eyes, “If you is being unwell, you is needing to see—”

Rosalie sighed, “No, Dobby. I’m not unwell. This is just something I need.”

Rosalie handed Dobby a folded up piece of paper and a couple of galleons—more than enough to cover the cost of the potion just in case.

Dobby took the piece of paper with a small nod, “Dobby be taking this directly to the apothecary.”

She felt his presence behind her the same moment that Dobby popped back out of the room. She tensed guiltily and didn’t turn around.

“May I enquire why you are sending out for inferior products when all you need have done was ask to have my skill at your disposal?” a smooth, rich voice asked lowly, coming up to stand directly behind her. Close enough that the she could feel the brush of his robes against her bare ankles.

Rosalie blushed hotly and turned to face him, “Oh it’s nothing really. I didn’t want to bother you, with all the brewing you do for Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. Not to mention the Dark Lord...I didn’t want to add to your work load.”

“It is no bother,” Snape replied easily, “Tell me what you need and I will make it for you if I don’t already have it in stock. At the very least you can be assured of its efficacy.”

Rosalie let out a distressed noise and bit her lip, “I, um...”

Snape frowned, “Potter?”

“Contraceptive potion,” She blurted out finally, her blush creeping up until she was sure it was encompassing her whole face, “I’m, ah...I’ve run out, you see, and I need more.”

She avoided his gaze, feeling guilty for misleading him but at the same time unwilling to wander down the path honesty would have taken them. She refused to have that conversation with him. Regardless, she felt certain after her visit with Madame Pomfrey, that an unwanted pregnancy would no longer be an issue, if it ever had been.

“I see,” Snape said, watching her curiously, “And you felt you couldn’t ask me for this?”

Rosalie groaned, “It’s embarrassing, alright?”

“You should not be ashamed for taking responsibility for yourself,” he informed her, “A pregnancy at this stage in your life would be...unfortunate. I should have brought this up between us before now. I should have made sure you were safe. I am ashamed to admit that it did not even occur to me.”

Rosalie lowered her gaze, because in truth, it hadn’t occurred to her either.

“Call your elf back,” He told her, “I will make it for you.”

A warm feeling blossomed in her chest and stretching up on to her toes she gave him a quick kiss, her lips pressing once firmly into his before they were gone.

“Thank you.”

Snape nodded, leading her before him into his lab and shutting the door behind them. Her face flamed at the memory of the last time they’d been alone together in this room and her breath quickened as she glanced at the table by the door, piled high once more with the books they’d sent tumbling to the floor in their passion. The memory sent a shiver of pleasure racing over her body and she turned her attention back to the man in question. 

Rosalie watched as he moved about the room with ease collecting ingredients and supplies to go about preparing the potion as Rosalie busied herself by calling Dobby back and explaining to the elf why she no longer needed his services. 

Snape already had the base of her potion simmering and was instead inspecting one of his other works as Rosalie made her way further into the room cautiously. Her confidence was buoyed by the fact he hadn’t reverted to treating her like crap after he’d allowed them to become intimate again. She’d been half expecting the return of ‘Professor Snape’, but he seemed to have come to terms with whatever had been plaguing him over what they’d done. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Rosalie said as she slid herself up onto one of the stools in his lab. Severus quirked and eyebrow in her direction, only really listening with half an ear as he studied the change in viscosity exhibited in his current mixture in direct correlation to its darkening in colour. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Odd.

“Snape?”

“I’m listening, Potter,” he told her as he ladled out a small sample and bottled it. It would still need to be tested, though he suspected it may have been the runespoor skin. The texture of it hadn’t been exactly right.

“Did you know Regulus Black well as a Death Eater?”

Severus lost his train of thought as he turned to face her, “Regulus Black? What, pray tell, does he have to do with anything?” 

Rosalie worried her lower lip with her teeth, “Its part of what I’m working on with Dumbledore. We’ve reason to believe he had something to do with what we are searching for, only very little is known about his disappearance though. I was hoping you might be able to tell me about him—or what you knew of him?”

Snape eyed her shrewdly, “I don’t think there was ever a time one might have called Regulus Black and I friends. Close acquaintances, perhaps. We entered the Dark Lord’s service around the same time though we were not initiated together. From what I knew of him, he was quiet, ruthless and absolutely rigid in his beliefs. He was incredibly intelligent, though magically not as powerful as some; certainly capable enough to get the job done, though. We were always amicable with one another, but never close.”

Rosalie nodded, “do you remember the weeks leading up to his disappearance?” 

“Of course. What you must understand, is that everyone in the Dark Lord’s service changes given time. Regulus was no different,” Severus told her dispassionately, “He became more withdrawn and secretive, even among his friends, more so however in the weeks before his disappearance. He spent a lot of time alone and when he did interact with others it was to question the intelligence behind their continued loyalty to a mad man. His doubts caused ripples among the Death Eaters and it was no surprise when he eventually disappeared. The Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate defection amongst his followers.”

“Was he part of the inner circle?” Rosalie asked.

“No.” 

Rosalie frowned, “Did he ever mention any reasons for his sudden change in beliefs?”

“None that would explain his abrupt change in demeanour, most of us simply believed he’d been given a task and baulked when the reality of the situation confronted him,” Severus sneered, though Rosalie recognised she was not the cause of it, “It would not have been the first time, or the last. Pureblood’s especially were often squeamish about getting their hands dirty.”

Rosalie shivered and tried not to think about what that might mean. Her hands were dirty too. She wasn’t thinking about that though, she reminded herself. If she thought about it, then she’d have to think about what she’d done to Greyback and she didn’t think she could deal with that right now. Maybe not ever.

Snape’s information, however, seemed to fit with a certain chain of events. Creating a horcrux, by all accounts, was considered to be dabbling with dangerous unnatural forces. It was the worst kind of magic, to destroy one’s own soul in the pursuit of immortality through committing murder. It was reasonable assume that if their R.A.B. really was Regulus Black, then his newly acquired knowledge of his leader might have lead to his defection. It wasn’t normal for someone to want to rip themselves apart; realising that this was what Voldemort had done might have shaken his beliefs. 

Rosalie wondered how many other Death Eater’s might defect if they knew of their leader’s abomination? How many more would celebrate his cunning? Her eyes strayed to Snape against her will. Would he revolt against such knowledge? Would it horrify him to learn what lengths Tom Riddle had gone to achieve power and immortality? She had to believe it would. Who in their right mind could justify the destruction of their own humanity in such a way?

“This has to do with the artefacts you are hunting? You believe Regulus to be somehow involved?” Snape asked his voice deep and smooth.

Rosalie looked at him sharply.

“The Headmaster mentioned some weeks ago that you were searching the Chamber of Secrets for certain Dark artefacts left by the Dark Lord in his time as a student,” He elaborated, correctly interpreting the suspicious look she gave him.

“Yes,” She finally responded, noting that Snape nodded with approval at her caution.

“I am sorry I cannot be of more use,” He told her, “Regulus and I were never close enough to share such information. There are those I may be able to question for you, but to do so may raise suspicions as to the reason for such a request.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s not necessary. Not yet.”

Snape inclined his head.

“Was there anyone Regulus was close enough to, to have possibly confided in?” 

“Not towards the end. Those who were once his allies began to distance themselves from him to spare themselves from the inevitable backlash his lack of discretion would eventually unleash. In his early days, his friendships stayed mostly within the family and those he knew prior to his initiation. Rosier, the Lestrange’s and Malfoy’s by way of his cousins’—”

“Bellatrix?” Rosalie interrupted.

Snape nodded.

 _That_ made sense. If Regulus was friends with Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lords most devoted and trusted follower, it explained how he may have come across such sensitive information. Out of any number of Voldemort’s followers, she was perhaps the only possible candidate that he may have confided the truth of his Horcruxes to. If she had told Regulus, or even hinted about the existence of such an artefact, then it’s possible that she knew what later happened to him. Maybe she was the one who’s killed him? Perhaps, she even knew what had happened to the locket? 

“I need to speak with Bellatrix. Where is the Headmaster holding her?” Rosalie demanded, scooting forward to slide off of her stool.

Snape’s hand shot out to grip her wrist, “Don’t be stupid. You cannot simply charge in and demand answers from her! She will tell you nothing. _Think_ , Potter, I know you are capable of it!”

Rosalie glared at him up at him, “What do you suggest I do then?”

“Talk to the Headmaster about it. Plan,” Snape replied, his long fingers still encircled around her wrist though his grip loosened off somewhat, “There is nothing Bellatrix holds more sacred than her loyalty to the Dark Lord. It doesn’t matter what you do. She will not talk and you will give far too much away in the process.”

Her eyes stayed locked with his though she relaxed her stance, only just realising how close they were suddenly standing. Close enough that his scent engulfed her and she consciously breathed it in.

“Without that information...” Rosalie trailed off, her own hand tuning to loosely encircle Snape’s wrist in return, the mirror of his hand on hers.

“There may yet be other ways of obtaining the information that you need,” He told her steadily, his voice like dark chocolate.

Rosalie held his gaze steadily before finally, reluctantly relenting.

He was right. She hated it, but it was true. She’d gain nothing if she simply stormed in and demanded answers. There was nothing they could do to Bellatrix Lestrange that Voldemort wouldn’t do worse if he ever found out that she’d betrayed him. She valued nothing they could give her. 

Rosalie looked down at their clasped arms—hand to wrist. She couldn’t help but wonder if Snape would be so calm if he knew what it was she and Dumbledore sought? What that information could mean for them?

“Does it anger you that Dumbledore willingly keeps information from you?” Rosalie asked, wondering how someone at the centre of the war could be content to function knowing there was things he didn’t know. Things that might impact on the decisions he made moment to moment. If Dumbledore hadn’t kept the secret of the prophecy from her, then it was possible Sirius might still be alive. Maybe not. She would never know.

“In truth, there is little I don’t know,” Snape told her with serious eyes, “What is kept from me, is kept from me with good reason. My skill as an Occlumens aside, if Dumbledore has information sensitive enough to bring an end to the Dark Lord, then he cannot risk that for the sake of appeasing my sensibilities. Nothing is certain. The Dark Lord may turn on me tomorrow and for him to learn of such things would be catastrophic.”

Rosalie nodded. Dumbledore had said as much in his own words. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if Voldemort came to realise they were hunting his horcruxes. He would move those that remained to ensure their safety, perhaps even make more! They would be back at square one and without the advantage of surprise. She shuddered at the thought. No wonder Snape and Dumbledore had pushed her so hard to master the skill of Occlumency, without it Voldemort had a direct link to her brain and every thought and memory.

Which is why she’d never learnt of Voldemort’s horcruxes until after she’d been able to successful occlude her mind.

Snape was gazing at her with intent eyes, focused and assessing like he was following her thoughts simply by reading the expression on her face. Maybe he was.

The air between them seemed to vibrate with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming. She felt drawn to him, like a magnetic force was pushing them together and she was powerless against it. Like gravity. How was it that he did this to her? Made her feel this way by just looking at her?

Rosalie glanced down at their entwined hands, still loosely encircling one another’s wrists. They were cool and dry against the warmth of her skin. His hands: clean, strong and so different in size compared to her own.

She glanced up at him from under lowered lashes, the intensity of his gaze unchanged.

Her hands cupped his face as her mouth found his, soft and needy, and they kissed like they were trying to devour one another whole. Rosalie pushed herself up onto her toes as his arms encircled her, pulling her further into his embrace, and she allowed herself to sink into him, her body sagging into his arms. Her shirt crept up under his hands, warm hands finding the soft skin of her waist and spine.

A chime sounded and Snape pulled away from her reluctantly, his hands slipping out from beneath the material of her shirt to tend to the potion that was now furiously bubbling behind them.

“Take your information to the Headmaster and see what he makes of it,” Snape told her as he stirred her contraceptive potion with practiced measure until it gradually began to change colour.

Rosalie nodded. Either way she would find out what Bellatrix knew. She was sure now that Bellatrix was the key to finding out what had happened to Regulus Black, for some reason it always came down to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last re-posted chapter before I start posting brand new freshly written chapters again! You can probably expect chapter posts to begin slowing down a little as we start to catch up to my writing speed, hopefully not too much though :) Again, a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and left kudos on my work! I love reading all you comments! It's super inspiring to read what you've all written and hear your thoughts and theories. On that note, I got an email from one of you asking what I imagined my Rose looked like and whether I had based her looks on a real life person/actor/character. I honestly haven't had a specific person in mind as I've written this but I would be super interested to know who or what you imagine Rose looking like if any of you have put any thought into it :)
> 
> See you all next week!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Seventeen**

“Severus! Come in, I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”

Severus nodded his head in greeting as he swept into the Headmaster’s office, taking his usual seat across from the ornate desk, “Albus, I trust this is not a bad time?”

“Not at all, I was just going over the student list for the coming year,” Albus sighed with a shake of his head, “I fear many of our numbers will not be returning to us.”

“An expected loss,” Severus replied evenly.

Albus made a noise of agreement, “Unfortunate all the same. I am growing too old for this, Severus. Three wars in a lifetime is three too many. Nevertheless, when we find ourselves entrenched in it, we must make of it what we can, my boy.”

Severus inclined his head, “Indeed. What choice do we have?”

“There is always choice, Severus. Always,” Albus responded gravely, a weighty pause following his words, “How have you been keeping?”

“Reasonable well given current political climate and the subterfuge that I often find myself embroiled in,” Severus replied dutifully, wondering how Albus always managed to sidetrack him so.

“It gladdens me to hear it, my dear boy,” Albus replied sincerely, “Tea?”

Severus shook his head even as two cups were laid out on the tea tray and aged hands deftly went about preparing the unwanted beverage. He accepted the cup without comment and set it aside, mentally gathering his thoughts.

“Has Potter been to speak with you?” Severus enquired neutrally, “She came to speak with me some days ago regarding my former acquaintance with Regulus Black. Whatever information she gleaned from our discussion had her attempting to fly off half-cocked, in true Potter style, determine to seek out Bellatrix Lestrange and make her talk. I advised her instead to seek your counsel on the topic.”

“Ah yes,” Albus chuckled, “She did indeed come to speak with me. In keeping with your advice, she informed me of the situation and her wish to gain access to Ms. Lestrange. It is Rosalie’s desire that we question her in regards to certain sensitive information we believe she may possess. Ms. Lestrange’s lack of co-operation makes this a less than feasible option, as you can, no doubt, well imagine. However, this does leave us in a bit of a pickle as to how to proceed and thus I have not completely ruled such an endeavour out.”

Severus’ jaw clenched, “It is doubtful you would gather anything of worth from interrogating Bellatrix. Her mind is not so warped as to leave it vulnerable to being poached. She would not have held so in the Dark Lord’s ranks if this were not the case. Nevertheless, she is the least of my concerns regarding Potter. You _must_ restrict Potter’s access to our ‘guests’ at all costs—or more specifically, Lucius Malfoy, as you have seen fit to house the two of them together. The man has an unnatural obsession with Potter that clouds even his soundest judgement.”

“While I have no intention yet of allowing Miss Potter access to either Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange, I am confident that both remain little threat in their current environment,” Albus told him with a smile, “They remain under strong magic dampening wards specific to their magical signatures and various other protective enchantments that render them magically useless.”

“The threat Lucius Malfoy poses to Potter is not a magical one. Undoubtedly, his goal could be accomplished just as well without the use of magic altogether,” Severus sneered with distaste, his body rigid with tension. There were no words to express the disgust that bled through to his very core.

Albus sipped his tea, eyeing his Potions Master over the rim of his cup “I am well aware of the situation that befell Rose when last she was in Lucius Malfoy’s presence. I will take your concerns on board, Severus, and continue to restrict her access for the time being so that it does not become an issue. I do believe, however, that he poses little threat in his current confinement. In any eventuality that Rose was to enter their holding cells, she would not be unarmed nor would she be left unaccompanied.”

Severus nodded tightly, forced to accept that Albus would continue to refuse to take his warnings with the weight he felt they deserved. While he would no doubt continue to restrict Potter’s access to the prisoners, he doubted the man fully understood Lucius Malfoy’s obsession with the woman. Simply sighting her was enough to cloud Lucius’ judgement beyond reason. Barely out of Azkaban, certainly far from being back within the Dark Lord’s graces, he had thought no further than his need to possess her—seeking her out against all reason and getting himself captured again with scarcely a thought to the punishment his wife and son would suffer on his behalf for his utter incompetence on an unsanctioned mission. Azkaban had done nothing but left him to stew on his fixation and the minute he’d gained his freedom he’d hunted her down and attempted to exert his desires upon her.

Severus’ grip unconsciously tightened on the armrests of his chair at the thought of Lucius possessing Potter in such a manner, defiling her with his filth. The inkwell on Albus’ desk began to rattle ominously and Severus consciously forced himself to relax and let the rage bleed out of him.

Albus was eyeing him curiously.

“I am not indifferent to your concerns, my boy” Albus stated pointedly, calling to attention Severus’ obvious protectiveness, “Indeed, I am pleased to see you and Miss Potter on such good terms.”

‘Perhaps not if you realised how good those ‘terms’ were,’ Severus thought cynically, even as he inclined his head minutely in acknowledgement.

“Hard won, no doubt,” Albus chuckled, “You are both so stubborn at times.”

Severus chose not to respond to such a comment, how could he? While it was true that his relationship with Potter was as solid as it had even been, Albus was correct in citing that it had been a long and arduous journey to arrive at this point. Had he not spent months loudly reciting all of Potter’s faults and short comings to his mentor in complaint and despairing over the fact that the Wizarding World’s entire hope rested squarely upon Rosalie Potter’s shoulders? The memory of it made him feel foolish, despite the fact that he knew that it had taken _both_ of them changing to allow such evolution to occur in their relationship. Potter’s growth to maturity and his hard won battle for patience. Even then they had argued and railed against one another, but their forced closeness had eventually led to grudging trust and respect to the point where he could now admit to himself, if no one else, he was proud of all Potter had achieved under his mentorship. When that had morphed into the powerful pull he felt around her now, he wasn’t sure. She was intoxicating and although he wasn’t sure if even _he_ could approve of this new aspect of their relationship, he wasn’t strong enough to say ‘no’ and deny himself this connection. Potter seemed to have flourished from a girl into a woman overnight and somehow he’d missed the parts in between. She’d become every bit the woman her mother had been and _more_. Her life—the circumstances she’d grown up in and the things she’d experienced—had shaped her differently. She was more complex. Lily had grown up almost entirely in the Light. Potter, had been shaded in darkness all her life and weathered more than any one person should have to at such an age, and yet she’d bloomed into the woman she was today because of it.

Severus snorted softly, bitterly amused at the turn of his own thoughts and how notions of Potter ‘blooming’ had managed to find a place there. He worried sometimes at what he’d been reduced too.

“You disagree?” Albus asked, taking Severus’ snort as disagreement.

He’d allowed his thoughts to wander again and departed the conversation at hand. What had they been speaking of?

“My apologies,” Severus murmured, “I found myself lost in thought, briefly.”

Albus was silent for a moment as he surveyed his Potions’ Master and Severus endured it calmly.

“Very well then, my boy, I think it’s time we call it a night. Unless there was something else you wished to discuss?”

Severus shook his head, “No. I have preparations that need to be made for the upcoming term.”

Albus inclined his head, “We will have an interesting year ahead of us. Dare I say ‘quiet’ in some respects with many students not returning for the school year? Tom has been far too active for comfort and I believe many will choose to keep their children close at hand.”

“That is their prerogative,” Severus replied, “It is not necessarily unwise to do so, given current events as they stand. Nothing is certain. Perhaps they will be safer at home, perhaps not.”

Albus nodded, “Hogwarts will always be open to those who need her. Tom cannot touch us here.”

“He already has,” Severus reminded him.

“Not personally, and we must remember that he did not prevail,” Albus corrected, “I have since strengthened the wards and sealed off all aspects of the school that are non-essential to everyday functionality. Whilst we are not impenetrable, even Tom will have difficulty breaking in and certainly not without alerting me to his presence well in advance. I believe Hogwarts is not yet vital enough to Tom’s plans to take the risk head on, or he would have attempted it by now.”

Severus nodded in agreement, “Certainly not while you remain such a threat to his plans. He seems largely unconcerned by Hogwarts at the moment. Which makes me speculate about his plans in the interim? He has made no secret of his desire to seize Hogwarts, yet he is content to wait. I believe something else holds his interest.”

“He keeps his plans closely guarded,” Albus replied distractedly, his expression pensive with deep thought, “I am at a loss to decipher his next move. His long term goals, however, remain clear.”

“He wants Hogwarts, he wants Potter dead and he needs you out of the picture,” Severus agreed, “Beyond that we remain in the dark as to his ultimate play. His still claims purification of the wizarding race above all and the severance of the muggle world from our own. However, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that changing with time. He has slowly twisted many of the ideals he once preached in his early years to suit his current needs.”

Albus shook his head gravely, “Merlin help us if those ideals ever become our reality.”

*

Hermione yawned and rubbed her hands over her tired eyes. She was exhausted. Bone-tired. No matter how many times she read and re-read the information, she never seemed to be able to generate anything new. She was convinced they were looking in the wrong places. She’d been through books and old copies of the  _‘Prophet’_ over and over again, but nothing gave any indication of providing them with a lead. The information was biased anyway and the  _‘Prophet’_ couldn’t be trusted as a reliable source. It was time to face the facts, Regulus Black, their R.A.B., was a ghost. They would never find out what happened to him, because no one _knew_ —no one that might be able help them, that is. Rosalie, of course, still wanted to question Bellatrix Lestrange.

Where did that leave them though?

Hermione had even tried decoding the message Regulus left inside locket, but there was no hidden message to speak of. They’d exhausted every lead they could possibly think of trying to ‘find’ Regulus Black and come up blank, which brought them right back to the locket they’d found, which was a fake, left by a man they knew nothing about—which meant they had nothing.

Hermione turned the fake locket over in her hands. Rosalie had almost died for a useless trinket. She _needed_ to figure out where the real locket was.

Hermione looked helplessly over the array of books fanned out around her, three of four books deep in some places, and her eyes fell on the manuscript. She was surprised at how much time the Headmaster had given her with the book, although she suspected he’d copied several pages for himself and was appeasing her by asking that she continue to study it. After all, what would she find that _The_ Albus Dumbledore couldn’t? Most of the book, while interesting, was completely irrelevant anyway. Nothing that would help them locate the real locket, or any of You-Know-Who’s other horcruxes for that matter.

“I need a break,” She sighed, glancing across at Ron. He was curled up comfortably in a well worn armchair by the fire, idly flicking through the book on his lap. One of his sock feet bounced rhythmically where he’d thrown one leg over the arm of the chair.

“I could eat,” he agreed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, catching the cover of his text as he swung it closed, his finger still marking the page he was on.

“Really, Ron?” She asked in amusement, “You choose now to start reading _‘Hogwarts, A History’_? I could use some help, you know.”

Ron glanced back down at the book briefly, “I’m not _reading_ it, I’m looking at the pictures.”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation, “Of course you are.”

“Hey! I’m still helping,” Ron announced defensively at her tone, “it was the first book on the pile you directed me to earlier. It’s not like I’d choose to read this, you know.”

Hermione sighed, “I know, sorry. I just need a break.”

“Here, I came across this,” Ron offered holding out the book again on the page he had marked, “Does this look familiar to you?”

Hermione took the text from him, her eyes sliding down the page to where he was pointing.

“We’re looking for a locket, right? Well I swear I’ve seen this somewhere before...” He offered.

“It’s Slytherin’s locket,” Hermione told him, “It’s a founder’s heirloom, Ron, like Gryffindor’s Sword. There are pictures of it everywhere; you’ve probably seen it a hundred times. Unlike the sword though, the locket itself has been lost for generations.”

“Generations?” Ron grimaced, “Oh. I guess not then. Only, don’t you think it kind of looks like that locket we found here last summer? The one that wouldn’t open?”

Hermione paused, “That old heavy thing?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed nodding, “It was kind of tarnished, but I’m almost certain it looked the same as the one in this picture.”

Hermione pressed her front teeth into her lower lip, worrying the flesh in thought as she considered the possibility, “It makes sense that he wouldn’t use just _any_ locket, I suppose. Knowing how important being a Slytherin was to You-Know-Who, not to _mention_ the fact that he is a direct descendent of the line... Actually, I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me sooner! Especially after we found Salazar Slytherin’s office and the manuscript—I’ve known for weeks that we’re searching for a locket and I’ve been so wrapped up in finding Regulus Black that it just didn’t occur to me that instead of tracking the man to find the locket, the locket itself could be a lead! Slytherin’s locket! Ron, you’re a genius!”

“I am?” The red head asked, his cheeks tinting in unexpected embarrassment, “So I was right? We found the locket?”

“No,” Hermione replied but she was smiling, “While I’m almost certain that You-Know-Who’s turned Slytherin’s Locket into a horcrux, we can’t be sure it’s the same one we found here... I barely remember what that locket looked like, and there are bound to be loads of replica’s made of the real locket. It’s a famous artefact after all. At any rate, we threw the one we found out, remember?”

“Yeah, but not everything _stayed_ in the bin. Sirius spent half that day wrestling things back off of Kreacher who was ‘stealing back’ what we threw out, remember?” Ron pointed out earnestly, “Even if it _isn’t_ the locket we are after, it’s pretty much the best lead we’ve got! A locket, fitting the description of Slytherin’s Locket, found in the last known residence of Regulus Black, the man who left us the fake? I think it’s the best damn lead we’ve got going for us! Unless, of course, you’ve managed to find anything new on Regulus Black’s disappearance in the last fifteen minutes?”

Hermione huffed and narrowed her gaze at him, “I’d like to see you do any better with the information I’ve been given to work with.”

“My point exactly,” Ron rushed out, “Regulus Black is a dead end. He’s got nothing left to give on the topic and we’re wasting time we could be spending actually destroying these things.”

Hermione nodded, “You’re right. Let’s find Rose and fill her in on what we know. Perhaps she remembers the locket we found more clearly.”

“It’s the one, I’m telling you. I can feel it in my bones,” Ron replied with touch of fierce satisfaction colouring his tone as he stood, watching his friend scoop her well-worn copy of ‘ _Hogwarts, A History_ ’ under her arm with practiced ease.  
“Let’s hope.”

*

“I don’t remember what it looked like, to be honest, other than it was old and tarnished. The only reason I remember that is because I tried to open it before I chucked it in the bin and it wouldn’t open. I thought the hinge was broken or something,” Rosalie admitted excitedly, “but Regulus was still living here right up until his disappearance, so it makes sense that it’s the locket we’re looking for, especially since it matches the description of Slytherin’s Locket!”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed eagerly, “it all fits too conveniently.”

“Why not destroy it though? The note clearly states that that was his intention,” Hermione asked.

Rosalie shrugged, “Perhaps he didn’t know how? Look at Dumbledore, he’s one of the most powerful wizards in the Wizarding World and even he couldn’t destroy one and escape unscathed. Whatever curse got his hand was a powerful one, he’s probably lucky to even be alive. It’s not impossible to think that Regulus Black didn’t have the power to destroy it. Perhaps that’s what killed him?”

“He didn’t have the Headmaster or the manuscript to help him like we do,” Hermione conceded, “It’s possible he died in his attempt to destroy it.”

“How did you even come to this conclusion?” Rosalie asked them, shaking her head in amazement, “What made you think of the locket we found that day? It seems so long ago now, it would never have even crossed my mind.”

“I came across a picture of Slytherin’s Locket and it looked kind of familiar, is all,” Ron replied.

“He was finally reading ‘ _Hogwarts, A History_ ’,” Hermione told her friend with a smile.

Rosalie froze as something clicked into place, sending a zing of tingles racing down her spine.

“‘ _Hogwarts, A History_ ’?” Rosalie asked.

“I know,” Ron said, sighing dramatically, “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“That’s not it,” Rosalie gasped whipping her wand out as she aimed it at the room above their heads. A loud thump followed her rushed summoning spell and Ron got up to open the door just as the object in question came whizzing in.

“I was going through Regulus’ room the other night hoping to find some sort of clue or something regarding his disappearance. I found nothing, obviously, but _this_ was turned down on his bedside table,” Rosalie told them holding up Regulus Black’s copy of ‘ _Hogwarts, A History_ ’, “he’s made markings all throughout the pages of the book. I didn’t know what to make of it at the time and I was called away before could really go through it, but I think now he may have been doing research into the locket _and_ other Hogwarts heirlooms. Look—” 

Rosalie flipped the book open to the page she first found it on and held it out to them.

“—Gryffindor sword is crossed out. At the time I thought it was symbolic of his hatred for Gryffindor, but with what we know now, it’s probably crossed out because he knew—”

“It isn’t a horcrux,” Hermione finished.

Rosalie nodded, “exactly.”

“The Hufflepuff cup is circled, Ravenclaw’s diadem too,” she flipped the final page over revealing Slytherin’s Locket and she grinned fiercely at the bright red tick etched in ink beside the picture, “He’s ticked it off. I think he knew, or at least suspected that there were more and began his own investigation into where and what they were.”

Hermione looked up from the book wide eyed, “we need to take this to the Headmaster.”

“No, first we need to speak to Kreacher,” Rosalie said urgently, “He was pocketing all kinds of things that day.”

“I agree,” Ron told her and they turned as one to look at their friend.

“Okay,” Hermione conceded.

“Kreacher!” Rosalie called, holding back the habitual wince as he bowed lowly on his arrival and looked up at her with obedient, respectful eyes. If only it hadn’t taken spiking her horrid cousin’s food with laxatives to end Kreacher’s hostility. His knowing gaze made her skin squirm.

“Mistress calls?”

Rosalie shuddered, “Kreacher, I am looking for an object that used to be in this house. My friends and I mistakenly tried to throw it out when we were cleaning up the summer before last. You kept trying to save things from us, do you remember?”

Kreacher narrowed his eyes at them, “Kreacher remembers.”

“Good,” Rosalie replied taking Hermione’s book from Ron as he handed it to her. She held it out to the elf, “You see this locket? It was in the house and not understanding its importance, I tried to throw it out. Did you save it?”

The trio held their breath as the little elf eyed them all carefully, “Kreacher did. Master Regulus be giving Kreacher this locket before he dies. He be ordering Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher could not. So Kreacher instead be bringing it home to keeps it safe.”

Rosalie felt her heart flip over and begin pounding painfully in her chest.

“Kreacher, I know why Master Regulus wanted you to destroy the locket, and I know how to do it. I need you to bring me the locket,” Rosalie told the elf working hard to keep her voice calm for the elf. She could feel her friends’ excitement behind her and knew they were feeling the exact same way. They were so damn close.

“Kreacher cannot,” the elf replied shaking his head.

 

Rosalie’s heart froze, “Why not?”

“Kreacher be putting the locket in the Black Bloodline Vault at the wizard’s bank, Mistress,” the elf replied easily.

“What? What does that mean? Can’t you go get it?” Rosalie asked in confusion.

Ron groaned, “Not from a Bloodline Vault, he can’t. It’s a stupid vault some pureblood families have that requires blood access. Only a direct blood related, legitimate descendent can get in.”

Rosalie frowned, “But I am the head of the Black family once Sirius passed the title onto me, shouldn’t I be able to get in?”

“Doesn’t work like that. The vaults not controlled by the head of the family. We need someone with Black blood by birth to be able to get into the vault.”

“Anything else, Mistress wishes?” Kreacher asked, popping out only once Rosalie dismissed him.

“What about Tonks, or her mum?” Hermione offered.

Ron shook his head, “Andromeda is ineligible because she was disinherited and Tonks is not recognised as a Black because she was born after the disinheriting and to a muggle father. Neither is eligible.”

“Can’t Rosalie reinstate them into the family as the Head of the family?” Hermione asked.

“Do you know the ritual?” Ron asked looking across at his friend.

“No,” Rosalie shook her head, “We could ask someone though, right? Maybe your dad might know? Or Dumbledore?”

Ron shook his head, “Rituals are unique to the family, Sirius would have had to have taught you—if _he_ even knew.”

“Who does that leave us with, then? Bellatrix, Draco and his Mum? They are all on the wrong side of the bloody war!” Rosalie huffed.

Hermione frowned, “I think it’s time we bring this to the Headmaster.”

*

Severus hesitated briefly as he entered the Headmaster’s office, his eyes zeroing in on a familiar head of long black hair he’d become so familiar with of late. Her back was turned to him and for one horrifying moment he thought Albus had found out about their affair and had summoned him here for questioning. Unease hammered through him making his insides turn cold and his stomach twist. Potter turned to him on hearing the office door swing shut and nodded once solemnly in greeting.

“Excellent! We are all here,” Albus gestured for him to take a seat opposite the desk, “Come in and sit down, Severus, we have a lot to cover.”

Severus forced his legs to un-stick themselves from the floor and moved forward taking the proffered seat beside Potter, finally noticing the presence of Weasley and Granger as he forced his sudden panic down. The tension immediately left his frame and his mind unclenched. No matter the circumstances, Albus would never allow Weasley and Granger ringside seats to what would undoubtedly unfold should he ever find out about the liberties Severus had allowed himself with Albus’ Golden Girl. The relif didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest, though.

Potter shot him a sideways glance, but he ignored it resolutely, realising that his doubts—and fears—that someone would find out about their tryst were not entirely resolved as he had led himself to believe.

‘Focus,’ he snarled internally, forcing himself to shake off his internal musings and focus on the Headmaster.

“As you know, Severus, Miss Potter and I—with the help of Miss Granger and Mr Weasley—have been hunting down certain valuable artefacts of Tom’s that play a vital role in the war. Recently, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Miss Potter made an important discovery in this avenue, however, we find ourselves unable to proceed further with this information as things currently stand.” Albus explained, “Just this afternoon, they uncovered the fact that one of these artefacts is currently kept in a Bloodline Vault only three people have access to.”

“Indeed,” Severus replied, sending the trio an appraising look, “Who might these people be?”

“There in lies the issue—Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco,” Albus answered, his blue eyes direct and serious as he peered over the rim of his spectacles.

Severus nodded, “I thought as much. You want me to help persuade Draco into defecting?”

Albus inclined his head, “He seems to be the most logical option. He is young and afraid. He is confused and struggling with the duties that have been thrust upon him. We have his father who we can allow him access to and a mother whom we can provide safe accommodation for. It offers him a way out for both him and his family that is otherwise out of their reach. In return I believe he can be persuaded to help us.”

“You are still asking a seventeen year old boy, who is, at present, essentially a prisoner in his own home to break ranks with the Dark Lord on a promise. Furthermore, it will require him to step out into public in a very suspicious manner. Draco doesn’t leave the Manor anymore except when...necessary,” Severus pointed out, “I’m not sure pinning out hopes on him is entirely safe. Draco is a coward. He will take the easiest route to ensure his safety in the immediate future, even if that means staying within the Dark Lord’s clutches at present.”

“I believe he could be swayed,” Albus replied.

“Take Draco,” Rosalie interrupted suddenly, as thoughts began to unroll in her mind to form a clear picture, “If we take him and we hold him in a safe house, it only leaves Narcissa who I believe is far more reliable than Malfoy. We inform her that we have not only her sister, but her husband and son and if she wants to see them before the end of the war she will help us with our task.”

“Rose!” Hermione gasped, “That’s blackmail!”

Severus eyed her appraisingly, “Extortion actually.”

“It’s necessary,” Rosalie countered, “Snape is right, Draco is a coward and he folds under pressure. Narcissa is the more reliable option. She will do anything for her son and I imagine her support network right now is thinning rather rapidly. We take her and make her decide on the spot. If she refuses then we still have the option to use Draco.”

Severus glanced at Albus whose frown was deep and contemplating as he rolled the options around in his mind, “Narcissa trusts me. Their family position is precarious at the moment and I believe she will turn to me once it becomes apparent that Draco is missing before informing anyone else. She won’t immediately assume we have taken Draco, as he is rarely outside the Manor. She will believe it is the Dark Lords doing. I can quietly and quickly apparate her to a secondary location where our terms can be explained.”

“You will reveal yourself a spy,” Albus pointed out.

“By then it won’t matter. Whether she agrees or not we can prevent her from returning to the Dark Lord and informing him of my defection. The Dark Lord is tearing her family apart, Albus. I believe it has long been her wish to escape him.”

“If you are indeed right then I agree that this is a more viable option,” Albus conceded, “How and when will you take Mr. Malfoy?”

“I will snatch him at the end of the next meeting the Dark Lord calls, when it becomes obvious that he is missing, Narcissa will send for me.”

“Will she not be at the meeting as well?” Rosalie asked.

Severus nodded, “However, the Dark Lord keeps them separated. Draco is required to stand at the front and participate in the...‘sport’ as punishment for failing in his task at the end of last semester.”

“Where will we take Malfoy once we have him?” Hermione asked, her tone still not entirely approving.

“Somewhere safe. Perhaps to his father,” Albus replied, “to show him in good faith that he is unharmed and will continue to remain unharmed whilst in our care.”

“We must not take him directly to Lucius,” Severus cautioned, “he will need time for me to speak with him first. To explain.”

Albus inclined his head, “Naturally. A voice activated portkey will be arranged in order to take you both to the safe house when the time comes.”

“Will Gringotts allow her entry to the vault if she is there under duress?” Hermione asked sceptically, “I thought they had wards against coerced withdrawals?”

“That is true; however, I hope to be able to get around that by offering Mrs. Malfoy a choice. We will not force her to go down into the back and withdraw the artefact we need, merely present her with an option. If it is true, as you say Severus, that she has long been looking for a way to escape Tom’s clutches she will see this for what it is—an opportunity to make a clean break from him with the added benefit of our protection against retribution until the war is done.”

“Am I required to escort Narcissa to the bank or do you have someone else in mind for the task?” Severus asked.

“No, as soon as you have her and she understands the situation escort her straight to the bank and then back via portkey to the safe house. The longer we wait the more obvious her disappearance will become. I will ensure the Malfoy’s are made comfortable on your return and then we will depart with the artefact,” Albus replied.

“There’s a lot of room for error,” Ron piped up, his distrustful gaze boring into Snape from across the room, “What if someone sees you take Draco? Or sees you at the bank with his mum before she then mysteriously disappears? What if she somehow ‘escapes’ and takes the artefact back to You-Know-Who along with the information that we are hunting these items down in the first place?”

“I know the Malfoy’s. Nothing is more important to them than family,” Severus returned frostily, “Narcissa will not risk her son’s life. This is a chance to free him of the Dark Lord once and for all.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, or we might as well admit defeat and turn ourselves over to You-Know-Who now and save ourselves the trouble,” Ron hissed.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and glared at her friend, “Ron! The plan will work. It has to. We only have one shot at this before people start getting suspicious.”

“I have the upmost faith in our Potions Master, Mr. Weasley,” Albus assure him, “Have faith that everything will go according to plan.”

“If that is all for now Albus?” Severus asked, pushing to his feet.

“If you’ll see Miss Potter and Miss Granger home, Severus, I’d like a word with Mr. Weasley,” Albus replied.

“Me?” Ron squeaked.

Albus waited until the others had exited via the floo before coming around from behind the desk to take one of them empty seats beside the redheaded teen. He analysed the boy over the rim of his glasses, freckled face pale with worry, blue eyes wide and earnest, free now from the twisted hate that had transformed his face into something dark and poisonous only minutes before.

“You are walking down a dangerous path, Ron, one that has the potential to consume you if you let it,” Albus began slowly and seriously, his blue eyes boring into that of the teen before him.

“I don’t understand,” Ron tugged on his sleeve, fiddling nervously with the frayed edge as his gaze dropped, unable or unwilling to maintain the contact.

“I think you do.”

Ron felt his cheeks grow hot—shame, anger, guilt, _hate_. Always Snape. It was always about Snape. How did one man have so many people ready to champion him?

“Perhaps you should ask yourself what it is that makes you dislike Severus Snape so passionately. To my knowledge his has done nothing to you to inspire this level of abhorrence, has he?”

Ron’s jaw clenched, “With all due respect, sir, you can’t tell me how to feel.”

Albus reached a hand out, resting it on the boy’s knee and anchoring him to the moment, “My dear child, I would never presume to tell you how you should or should not feel—”

“But you are,” Ron interrupted eyes once more ablaze, “Snape can’t be trusted, and you and Rose and everyone else don’t seem to be able to see that.”

“Is that what is upsetting you, the fact that Rose and Professor Snape have been able to put the past aside and form a solid basis of trust and friendship?” Albus queried calmly even as the storm raging inside Ron grew stronger.

“She thinks the sun shines out his bloody arse!” Ron snarled, his cheeks flushed crimson, his chest heaving as he stood abruptly and began moving around the room agitatedly, “Rose used to hate Snape every bit as much as I did, and with good reason! He’s a mean, cold bastard who picked on us every chance he got. He’s a known Death Eater, who is still working with You-Know-Who and suddenly everything between them is _fine_!?”

“It is your choice whether or not you trust Severus Snape, Ron. Just as it is Rosalie’s prerogative to make the same decision. You have made your concerns quite clear to her, and yet just as I cannot tell _you_ how to feel, you need to extend the same courtesy to her. This anger you hold inside you will consume you if you let it and it will push your friends away. I would caution you to try and let it go and simply be there for you friend if and when the time arrives that you worries are proved founded.”

“Rosalie could be dead by then,” Ron hissed.

“And how will your hate and anger now change that?” Albus asked, “If I had any concerns or fears about Severus Snape, or indeed, if anyone came to me with serious allegations as to why we should not trust him I would act on them. As it stands, no such allegations or suspicions exist and I trust Severus Snape with my life.”

“It’s not your life you are risking, though, is it? You say you would act on serious allegations or suspicions, and yet here you are blowing mine off as if they are nothing!”

“Ron, you offered nothing more than old grudges over school time pettiness and his past as a Death Eater when the fact is he has been a spy in my camp longer than he was ever loyally pledged to Voldemort. He has been instrumental in our successes over the years as he brings true and honest information to our table. If you have any other reasons that you are withholding as to why I should not trust a loyal friend and Order member then now is the time to tell me, otherwise I am sorry to say there is nothing to be done.”

Ron shook his head.

Albus sighed, “I am not saying you need to change the way you think—”

“Good, cause I’m not.”

“—remain cautious if it makes you feel better, but learn to recognise and control you anger. Ask yourself what getting angry will achieve in the here and now. If your goal is to keep your friend safe, then alienating yourself from her may not be your wisest course of action.”

“Fine.”

“You are a good friend, Ron. Rosalie is lucky to have someone who cares so much about her wellbeing. That’s what counts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Oh my gosh! Finally some brand new chapters after so long! I hope it’s up to scratch and I would love to hear what you think! Thanks so much for those of you who have taken the time to review so far and to everyone who has read and left kudos!
> 
> Till next time!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Eighteen**

Rosalie stumbled out of the floo with her usual lack of grace and immediately turned to await Snape’s arrival. The house was still and almost oppressively silent around her, the only sound the steady rhythmic thudding of her heart in her ears. At times she wondered how she could have lived here for weeks on end without going mad. Or perhaps she was already mad and this was all some paranoid delusion? Maybe the long shadows and drenching darkness were leeching into her and changing the way her mind worked. After all, she’d have never hatched a plan to blackmail a woman with her own son’s life before all of this—even if it _was_ Malfoy. Or perhaps this was just war and surviving meant you had to play by different set of rules even if it changed you in the process. It was impossible to remain untouched and perhaps, more importantly, it was impractical. They couldn’t run the risk of playing it safe anymore, but that didn’t make them Voldemort.

The floo flared again and Rosalie caught her breath as Snape stepped through.

Their gazes locked—green to midnight blue and a million emotions seemed to pass between them.

“Is this going to work?” her voice no more than a whisper. She could hear the neediness in her tone—a plea for reassurance that they’d made the right call. Knowing hard decisions would need to be made and making them as different as night and day, it would seem, but she trusted Snape to guide her down the right path. He had more experience than anyone she knew in walking the line of morality, his position firmly rooted between both camps—Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Severus held her gaze, “Narcissa has long been disillusioned with the Dark Lord and his tyrannical regime.”

“Yes, but fear is a strong motivator. Who’s to say it doesn’t sway her the wrong way?”

Severus inclined his head, “Even so, I believe the plan will work.”

“She trusts you implicitly,” Rosalie realised, her gaze following his searchingly, “She confides in you... You must be very close.”

He hesitated fleetingly, so slightly she almost missed it, “We have long been friends. I am Draco’s godfather.”

“What if she feels you’ve betrayed her?”

“She would not be wrong to think so,” Severus replied, “I have been lying to the Malfoy family for years over the true nature of my loyalties. I’ve sat by whilst Narcissa fretted over her family’s welfare and said nothing. I will have kidnapped her son as blackmail material and forced her hand. She will be...upset, certainly, but she will forgive me.”

“I’m not sure _I_ would forgive you if I was in her shoes,” Rosalie whispered.

“You are not a Slytherin,” Snape said, as if that was all there was too it, “She will understand that all I have said and done—or neglected to say or do—was in the interest of my own welfare. For the most part her family was never in immediate danger and I have helped subtly where I could to ensure they remained so.”

Rosalie stared at the man before her, amazed at the confidence he held in this woman’s ability to understand and forgive him. She wanted to ask how he could be so sure. It made her wonder if there had once been something more than mere friendship between them? Severus wasn’t the unattractive git that everyone made him out to be. He wasn’t handsome in the most classical sense, but he was far from unappealing or ugly. Once she’d stopped viewing him through prejudiced eyes she began to realise that teenagers and their gossiping made everything seem worse than it really was—his nose, while hooked wasn’t overly large for the proportions of his face; his hair when un-brushed hung lank about his face, but she had never once truly noted it to be overly greasy; his eyes were deeply emotive and he was surprisingly strong and physically fit. She had no doubt there had been many women who’d seen what she had seen in him over the years. Narcissa Malfoy had more than likely been one of them—Narcissa had never had to overcome the prejudice and misconceptions that Rosalie had faced. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that they had once shared a mutual attraction for one another, was it? Even thinking such a question made her sound jealous and insecure, though, and it was truly none of her business. She had no expressed claim to the man before her, but even still, the thought of the two of them together made her stomach churn with vicious jealousy. Narcissa Malfoy was elegant, cool, sophisticated and beautiful in an impersonal sort of way—worldly, perhaps—everything she could imagine a man like Severus could want or need in life. Why on earth would he ever choose her over someone like that? She was not sophisticated or elegant, she was just ‘Rose’; an average student, with average looks, who led a complicated and sometimes difficult life that was anything but.

Rosalie glanced away not wanting to chance Severus seeing what might be in her eyes. Legilimency aside, he was far too gifted at reading her face and body language and this felt too personal. It left her too vulnerable to someone as unpredictable as the weather. She wasn’t ready to discuss these thoughts with him and find herself suddenly adrift once more, because she didn’t trust that he wouldn’t change his mind again.

A steady hand found its place on her shoulder and Rosalie composed herself enough to look up into those dark eyes.

“I will do everything in my power to see that we get all that you need,” Severus told her, his gaze capturing and holding hers once more, “take my word that Narcissa Malfoy will not become an obstacle to this.”

She believed him. She had to.

Rosalie nodded stepping into him so that her forehead could come to rest on his sternum. The rough wool of his robe was warmed from the heat of his body and she turned her face into it until her cheek was pressed against his chest. His heartbeat drummed in her ears and she could feel its steady beat under her face—strong and reassuring. Resilient. His arms encircled her waist, returning the embrace almost without pause as they sank into one another. She felt safe in his arms; protected from the world and all its problems.

Rosalie inhaled his scent carefully, filling her senses with him as he smoothed her hair down her back in long even strokes. His throat was rough against her lips as she swept them up the side of his neck to press a kiss into the soft stubbled underside of his jaw lingeringly, enjoying the tension that settled into his fame. His arms tightened on her waist, drawing her in closer and she smiled against him, repeating the process before dragging her teeth teasingly over the angle of his jaw.

A shudder rattled through his fame as his hands twisted in her hair, gently tugging her head back as he brought their faces together. His lips bussed hers, hovering lingering allowing her to return the favour, teasing one another with the promise of more.

“Rosalie,” His hand was warm against her face as he cupped her jaw, this thumb tracing the softness of her bottom lip as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

Rosalie glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, as she kissed the pad of his thumb. Her heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest as she opened herself up to him, for once levelled headed and without the threat of death hanging over their heads or fear induced adrenaline fuelling their passion. His mouth was warm, gentle and demanding all at once and her eyes fell shut of their own accord as she acquiesced to his control. Butterflies took flight inside of her stomach and in a sudden moment of bursting clarity she realised how emotionally invested she was in this man. She hadn’t gone into this knowing what would happen, or even that it would, they’d simply fallen into one another and she was only just realising how much he had come to mean to her on an emotional level.

Emotion whipped through her, gripping her tightly around the chest and stealing her breath as her whole body trembled with realisation. She was falling in love with Severus Snape. She was falling for him hard and it felt like a storm was raging inside her, her feelings too vast to contain, threatening to rise up and consume her whole. Her world was shifting on its axis, finding a new centre of gravity and she knew that when it was done she would no longer simply be Rosalie Potter, but something _more_. She would never simply be Rosalie Potter again.

Rosalie kissed him harder in an attempt to distract him from the way she was suddenly trembling, but her hands still shook as she pushed his heavy robes from his shoulders easily and pulled his shirt out from within his pants. His skin was warm beneath her hands and smooth to touch as her hands ghosted around his sides and up his spine.

“Rose,” Severus called, pulling back from her questing hands, noting absently how they shook.

Rosalie looked up at him in question, her green eyes dark with arousal as she peered up at him and Severus felt something in him break at the sight of her. Merlin help him, he didn’t care that it was wrong or that he’d panicked today when he’d though Albus had found out about them. He was done second guessing his every move and then choosing to do it anyway.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, pulling her back into his arms as he apparated them mid-kiss. They appeared in his bedroom, flushed and panting with need without missing a beat; deep, sucking kisses driving them onwards as they shuffled further into the room.

“I want you,” Rosalie breathed, her heart all but consumed by the fire burning within.

Severus growled deeply as he stripped off her top, drinking in the sight of her lace clad breasts as they stumbled back towards his bed. Their clothing hit the floor, one by one, lining their path until Severus found his seat on the edge of the mattress and pulled Rosalie into his lap. His hands buried themselves in the abundance of her hair, drawing her back into his mouth. He moaned deeply as her hips rocked into him—he could feel the heat of her core pressing into his length temptingly through the thin barrier of their underwear. Rosalie did it again, gasping as his fingers dropped to trail over the damp material of her underpants.

“Severus!”

Severus stroked the white lace, pressing in gently as his mouth kissed a trail of heat over her shoulder and up the length of her neck. Rosalie moaned as she coiled herself around him, her eyes hooded with desire as she pressed back, her breasts crushed against his chest.

His breath was hot and damp against her neck as she reached into his pants, her fingers tangling teasingly in his pubic hair as she trailed her lips up the side of his face, “Show me what you like?”

Severus moaned as her warm hand encircled him, tugging him gently from within the silk of his boxers. His eyes fell closed of their own accord, relishing the feel of her—even just her hand—wrapped around him and exhaled raggedly, reaching down to cover her hand with his own and they began to pull his length together. His hand guided hers over his flesh, squeezing and tugging rhythmically up and down the shaft, swirling across the head, smearing pre-cum down his length and twisting around the base.

Her mouth was needy—soft and damp—as she took his mouth, again and again with hunger, teasing him and tempting between gasps and moans to follow her retreat as they pleasured him.

“This is...okay?” she enquired breathlessly, pulling back so she could catch the expression on his face.

Severus hissed, pulling her mouth back into his, “More than...”

Rosalie gasped as he gripped her about the hips and flipped them suddenly, sending her bouncing back into the centre of the bed, only to gaze up at him as he shifted over her. Warmth flooded her core as he pushed at his boxers and feeling flushed, she lifted her legs, using her feet to help push them the rest of the way off.

Rosalie ran her hands down his chest as the material slid to the floor, taking in everything that was Severus Snape for the first time. Her body felt hot with need at the sight of him, fully naked, resting atop of her. His skin was smooth and pale, his chest surprisingly toned, as she let her gaze rake down his form with interest. His hips were tucked neatly into the cradle of hers, the dark thatch of pubic hair doing nothing to conceal the flushed heat of his arousal pressed between them.

His eyes were dark with emotion as his lips found the valley between her breasts, pressing a line of soft kisses along her sternum as he began to trail his way down her body. He lingered briefly over her stomach and navel as warm hands smoothed up her thighs and hooked into the waistband of her underpants. He drew the small scrap of material down her legs slowly, the intensity of his gaze holding her in place as her underpants cleared her feet and the sudden urge to snap her knees shut almost overwhelmed her.

She could smell her own arousal perfuming the air and the thought embarrassed her just as much as it turned her on. She felt her cheeks burn as Severus lowered his head to inhale the clean musky scent, pushing her knees apart and back towards her chest.

Rosalie’s cheeks remained hot as she fully appreciated the fact that Snape could see all of her too, that he was staring right at her sex as his big hands gently kept her legs apart. Anxiety and arousal pulsed through her, leaving her breathless and panting and somehow frozen in place.

“What are you—” Rosalie gasped breathlessly; her stomach muscles jumping in surprise at the first swipe of his tongue over her heated sex, “Ohhhh!”

“Holy shit!” she sobbed as her fingers tunnelled into his hair and clenched in the strands as she consciously fought to relax her thighs from their death grip around his head.

“Relax,” he breathed against her, the deep velvet of his voice urging her back as his hands guided her legs apart once more. He pressed a soothing kiss to the tender skin of her inner thigh, as her muscles trembled in anticipation. Breathing in deeply she forced herself to relax back into the softness of the mattress, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling as her body fought to come to terms with what was happening—practically vibrating with need over the unexpected pleasure of his mouth.

Rosalie moaned brokenly as he lowered his mouth once more, her hips thrusting up against his face without her consent. The pleasure emanating from her core had her restless with need, not entirely sure whether she was trying to escape the overwhelming sensations or get closer to them. She moaned and rocked against him as he lapped at her folds, parting them expertly as he circled her opening and sucked teasingly on her clitoris. Boisterous pleasure sparked over her, pooling tremulously between her legs as her hands twisted in his hair, tugging more harshly than she intended.

Severus let out a muffled grunt of pain.

“Sorry,” she gasped, consciously relaxing her grip, “I’m sorry.”

Their gaze locked as he pulled back from her, traces of her pleasure clinging to his mouth. Rosalie felt her breath hitch, pinned down by his gaze. He sat back on his haunches slowly and held his hand out to her, guiding her up and over his lap once more until they were kneeling face to face in the centre of the bed, her body pressed tightly against his from chest to hip.

She tasted herself on his lips as they joined, her arms twining about his neck as he guided her up enough that he could move himself into alignment beneath her. Rosalie gasped as he rubbed the head of his cock over her entrance, slipping through her folds with ease as he teased her opening.

“Severus,” she breathed, raw need sparking down her spine.

“Rose...” a soft smile lit her face at the sound of her name on his lips, drawn out in a deep heady moan as she sunk down onto him slowly.

Rosalie pressed a kiss to the shoulder that lay beneath her mouth as his lips trailed softly down her neck and across her chest. Her breath trembled out against him, as everything slowed—his arms coiling about her waist, her fingertips sinking into the muscle of his shoulders as they slowly began move; rolling and thrusting in synchronisation as their bodies moved to completely encircle one another.

“Merlin!” she gasped as his cock rubbed over a spot inside of her that made her muscles tremble and her thighs clench about his hips.

“That’s it,” Severus encouraged, brushing long tresses back from her face. She was flushed and dazed looking. Green eyes luminous with the same emotions he felt flooding his chest.

“You feel so good,” Rosalie whined, no longer embarrassed by what came tumbling out of her mouth.

Severus groaned.

“What are you doing to me?” He whispered fervently, not entirely sure whether or not he’d spoken the words aloud after he’d said it, but knowing them to be true. He lost all sense and reason around this woman.

The musky scent of sex and the clean tang of sweat scented the air as her long dark hair teased across his knuckles as it swayed at her back, “Rose...”

Their release erupted over them almost simultaneously, the spasming of her inner walls sending him over the edge as they gripped at each other, crying out into the night.

Severus lost himself to the soft lush kisses that followed as they knelt trembling, holding one another in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He knew that this closeness would make a lot of people angry over the liberties he had supposedly taken with Rosalie, but he knew in the end that it wouldn’t matter. They’d found someone in one another that was exactly what they needed. What they _wanted_.

Realising this, Severus kept her wrapped in his arms as they fought to regain their breath, their bodies still intimately joined.

Rosalie blinked up at him with liquid eyes. 

“Is it always like this?” she asked breathlessly, a high flush on her cheeks and her breasts heaving with every breath.

“Is what?” Severus replied as he eased them back down onto the bed, he was old enough that his knees wouldn’t thank him for the abuse they’d just endured if he remained kneeling on them any longer.

“Sex,” Rosalie replied.

Severus smirked, “only if you’re lucky, Potter.”

Rosalie smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck again, curling into his side easily so that her head was resting on his shoulder.

“I like it better when you call me ‘Rose’,” She admitted, letting her hand trace over his chest. 

“Indeed?” Snape asked, eyebrows quirked, “perhaps only in private?”

Rosalie caught her bottom lip between her teeth, “only in private.”

Severus marvelled at idea that he’d fancied himself in love with Lily Evans for a time, back when they’d reached a certain age that one started thinking of such things. It had taken his adolescent brain time to come to terms with what she’d likely known all along, that he’d loved her as a friend—a best friend—or perhaps even a sister, nothing more. Those feelings though, confusing as they were, had _nothing_ on what he was coming to feel for her daughter. He felt dirty even thinking of it in those terms, but it was getting easier and easier to move on from such thoughts every day. He’d never been in love before—he wasn’t even sure that he’d recognise the feeling if it struck him—but what he felt for Rosalie Potter was unlike anything he’d ever felt for another human being. If he let himself, he could fall in love with her. It should have been impossible, but their relationship had changed so from what it once was that they’d formed intimacy with one another without fully meaning to realising that they had. Severus had come to view her as an equal, someone worthy of his time and knowledge. Rosalie had learnt to trust him with her life and her secrets. Perhaps this had always been the inevitable conclusion for two people so steeped in Darkness? Who else had a hope of understanding what they’d been through, let alone relating to it? Her friends would never know the extent to which the Darkness had touched her, they had never lived with the Dark Lord dogging their every step, intruding on their thoughts and influencing their behaviour. They had never bloodied their hands for the sake of self preservation. Rosalie, at her core, was Light and good, but she would forever carry this Darkness with her just as he did.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

“About choice and inevitability,” Severus replied vaguely.

Rosalie was quiet as she contemplated what that was supposed to mean, “What’s this for you, then?”

“Both,” he smirked, his arm tightening briefly around her waist, “What once was perhaps an inevitability between us, given the intimacy we were forced to share, we chose to continue. I chose to continue.”

Rosalie smiled, “I’m glad.”

*

“Hello?” Remus called out as loudly as he dared, shooting a wary look in the direction of Sirius’ mum’s portrait. He hadn’t really expected an answer given the lateness of the hour, yet he knew both Rosalie and Snape were prone to wandering at night. It wasn’t uncommon to find them both up chatting in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning when all three of them were in the residence. Rosalie, he knew, suffered from nightmares that kept her awake; Snape, he suspected, was in the same boat though the man would never admit to it. Just one more thing Snape and Rosalie seemed to share.

Remus glared into the darkness at yet another reminder of how Snape held a role of greater significance in Rosalie’s life than he did. It was...upsetting. He regretted the way he’d left things with Rosalie when they’d last spoken the minute he’d left the house. He’d been angry and upset at her unwillingness to open up to him, but he’d realised his mistake almost immediately. Leaving things on such a bad note was foolish. There were no assurances in this war, he couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to either one of them when he’d not taken the time to make things right between them. Still, it felt like Snape was slapping him in the face at every turn. _He_ was her parent’s best friend and her pseudo-godfather and they were the closest thing either of them had to family. It was bloody Snape she confided in though, Snape with whom she plotted and planned and whom she trusted above all others. It was painful that someone had managed to take that role from him without even trying.

Remus walked through the darkened lounge, red ashes burning in the hearth the only remainder of the fire which had recently burnt there. With a flick of his wand the fire roared back to life and the room lit up once more in a warm muted glow. It was then he saw the black heap of cloth on the ground just by the fireplace. He picked it up, immediately noting Snape’s distinctive scent. How unlike Snape to have simply left something lying around the house?

Lifting the fabric to his nose, he inhaled deeply picking out the scents that still lingered on the garment. Rosalie’s warm vanilla scent was strong, which was not wholly unexpected given the close company she kept with Severus of late. What was surprising was the undercurrents of arousal he could detect—hers or his, perhaps even someone else’s all together? He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was the very idea of Snape and Rosalie together in such a manner made him see red.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as Remus turned and made for the stairs. His righteous ascent, however, was interrupted by the appearance of the man in question, showered and dressed, appearing on the steps above him.

“Lupin,” Snape greeted casually.

“Snape,” Remus snarled, “Care to explain this?”

Snape glanced at the robe Lupin had thrust out before him as though it were Snape’s Death Eater garb.

“It appears to be my robe,” Snape returned, realising immediately that Lupin must have found it by the floo where Rosalie had stripped him of it the night before—hardly incriminating evidence, but certainly suspicious, he conceded. Strangely, the expected guilt didn’t stir inside of him; he would ensure they were more careful in the future.

“Quite obviously,” Remus agreed, “What I am wondering is why I found it lying forgotten in the lounge? Quite unlike you, wouldn’t you say?”

Severus smirked, “You think me so infallible that I don’t on occasion misplace or forget personal items from time to time in the house in which I am living? I’m flattered, Lupin. Truly. Even so, I see no reason why it should be any of your business where I leave my attire.”

Remus snarled, “It is when it is drenched in Rosalie’s scent and the pungent scent of arousal!”

Severus cast a sceptical eye over him, unmoved by his apparent outrage and Remus felt himself shrink back somewhat, suddenly feeling a little absurd. Arousal? Really? In what world would Severus Snape seducing Rosalie Potter ever be of concern? He was the same age as her father. Yes, they had become close...but involved?

He must be more tired than he realised.

“May I ask what exactly you are suggesting, Lupin? I do mean, other than the fact that you clearly make a habit of sniffing other people’s clothing.”

Remus didn’t respond, but his hand and the robe dropped to his side, “Just...where is Rose?”

“Sleeping,” Severus replied, “At least I believe so given the hour. Where on earth did you think she would be?”

“You’re up,” Remus pointed out almost churlishly.

“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “Because I felt you cross the wards I placed last night and I am unable to return to sleep once awoken. I planned to use the time to make some progress on one or two of the projects I have been working on. Unless, of course, you’re not finished interrogating me?”

Remus hefted a sigh feeling ridiculous, “My apologies—I am, not myself. I feel I am absent a good night sleep.”

Severus pierced him with a glare, “Indeed.”

Remus held out the robe, “My apologies.”

Snape watched him go, not moving until he’d heard the man’s bedroom door swing closed. He looked down then at the robe in his hands. He’d best awaken Rosalie and send her back to her own bed.

*

‘How exactly did such a slimy git inspire such trust in people?’ Ron thought venomously as he stared down the table at the git in question. Snape didn’t even _try_ and Rosalie acted as if the bloody sun rose and set on his command most of the time. It was beyond infuriating. Snape had shown his colours time and time again in the past, and now suddenly it was all forgotten! His opinion, on the other hand, apparently counted for nothing and now here they were, waiting for Snape to receive his summons from the Dark Lord so that their ‘plan’ could be set in motion. Ron felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why was he the only one who thought that putting their trust in Snape was a bad idea? Even if he retrieved the Locket without issue, all it would take was a word in the Dark Lord’s ear and any advantage they had over You-Know-Who would be lost. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Snape hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he hated Rosalie up until a year ago, and even then his behaviour toward her hadn’t changed all that much. Why was every one so blind to the fact that he was an unimaginable git? Even Hermione was on board the Snape express. Dumbledore too, was just as blind as the rest of them. Snape would betray Rosalie, though, Ron knew it. He only hoped that when the time came he was in some sort of position to help her, because surely Snape had it in for him too. Especially seeing as he was the only one who could see past the charade.

Ron watched them from across the dining table, engaged deeply in one another’s attention, discussing the finer aspects of spell construction, of all things. Since when was Rosalie even interested in spell construction? And since when had Snape become some kind of expert in it? They were oblivious to everyone around them and it was noisy enough that Ron couldn’t keep up with the flow of their conversation.

His mum could be heard over the general buzz of voices, banging pots and pans in the kitchen, completely in her element as she fluffed around over their dinner for the evening. The Order meeting that night had run late and she’d offered to cook everyone dinner at Grimmauld Place. At least a handful of people had stayed on—Shacklebolt, Moody and Tonks; his dad, Ginny and most of his brothers; Dumbledore and McGonagall; Lupin and Hestia Jones and, of course, Snape. It was a lively bunch, despite his own dark mood, and the overall feeling of the dinner was cheerful one now that more serious matters had been dealt with.

Hermione and his sister where whispering back and forth with one another, erupting in fits of girls giggles every couple of minutes as they sent pointed glances up and the table.

Ron shot them a dark glare as he caught Hermione’s eye just as she tried to muffle another snigger, Ginny hissing something into her ear zealously.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noting his dark look as she took a deep sip from her cup, trying to settle her mirth.

Ron shook his head and looked away, “Nothing.”

Ginny snorted, “Please! Anyone can see that Ron’s jealous of Snape because Rosalie focuses so much of her attention on him and Ron wants her to notice _him_ because he’s in love with her.”

Hermione didn’t share his sister’s amusement. Wide eyes blinked owlishly in his direction as she stared at him agape.

“You’re in _love_ with her?” Hermione repeated in shock, “I mean, I knew you had a crush on her, but...”

Ron’s face flamed, “Shut it will you! I’m _not_ bloody well in love with her.”

Hermione blushed and looked away knowing the statement to be false. Ron Weasley was in love with Rosalie Potter. Hardly shocking really, given their history and Ron’s devotion to their friend, but the realisation was unexpectedly painful none-the-less. Hermione avoided Ron’s eyes and looked up at their friend as silence descended them. Rosalie had a pink tinted flush on her cheeks and was studiously avoiding their gaze. She’d heard. So had Snape. Curiously, however, Snape’s dark gaze was still centred on Rosalie, watching as she came to terms with what she’d just heard, but apparently unsurprised himself—or perhaps merely unaffected.

Hermione swallowed thickly, keenly feeling the tension that had settled over them like it was a wet blanket—cold and heavy.

Ginny shifted awkwardly beside her.

“Excuse me,” Rosalie finally said, clearing her throat self consciously as she pushed back from the table.

Ron was staring at her with wide, imploring eyes, his gaze boring into her back as she made to leave the room, silently willing her to look back at him. Just look at him, so that he could decipher what was going on inside her head.

“Rose, darling!” Molly called as she saw the young witch making a bee-line for the exit, “I’m just about to serve dinner!”

Rosalie shot a strained smile over her shoulder at the Weasley matriarch, “I’m just ducking to the loo, Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione watched her slip out the door before she allowed herself to glance back at her friend. His cheeks were burning with humiliation and fury, turning his whole face an unflattering shade of red.

“What did we miss?” George whispered loudly as the twins both picked up on the tension, “You could fry and egg on your face Ronniekins!”

Ron’s chair screeched across the floor the minute she cleared the door.

“Sit,” Snape ordered, hit tone brooking no room for argument.

Ron’s glare was mutinous, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Snape’s face didn’t so much as twitch, “Sit down, or I will make you.”

Despite himself, Ron’s arse hit the seat obediently. His glare was murderous though as he stared Snape down across the table. What right did he Snape have to order him about like they were in school? Only if he made a scene, he’d only end up humiliating himself and Snape knew it. Bastard.

Hermione worried her lower lip as she watched the play by play, stunned at Snape’s unwavering defence of her friend. Ron looked like he was about to explode, but he remained seated to her surprise and Snape went back to ignoring him with an ease that would have been insulting if she’d been on the receiving end. 

She didn’t know what to say, or whether she should even say anything at all. Ginny too was silent beside her, sitting shame-faced as she watched the scene unfold though wide eyes.

The conversation from the other end of the table buzzed over them, filling the void of silence surrounding them, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding at the opposite end of the table.

Hermione startled as Snape rose unobtrusively from the table and slipped from the room without word, his black robes swirling around his feet dramatically as always. Was he going after Rosalie? She _had_ been gone a while, not that Hermione blamed her friend, she wouldn’t want to return to the table if she were in Rosalie’s position either.

“So he can go after her, but I can’t? What does he even want with her, anyway?” Ron seethed, “Bloody bastard.”

“Ron, I’m sorry, I—” Ginny began earnestly.

“Who bloody told you?” Ron snarled, cutting her off midsentence.

“The twins,” she replied quickly, “though not directly. I heard them talking. It’s kind of obvious though, really.”

“Wait just a minute!” Fred interrupted suddenly, “we don’t even know what’s going on here!”

“Ginny and Hermione just ousted Ron’s love to Rose,” George cut in, his tone conspiratorial.

“Oh...right,” Fred replied knowingly, “Carry on, then.”

“Is it true?” Hermione asked gently.

“Does it even matter if it is?” Ron huffed.

Hermione sighed, “It obviously is, or you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“Why’d you ask then?” Ron shot back, “if it’s all so bloody ‘obvious’ to you.”

Hermione shrank back, lowering her gaze at the venom in his voice. Why had she asked? Because she’d needed to hear him say it? Because for some reason his answer mattered to her? She wasn’t sure.

They fell silent again as Rosalie re-entered the room and resumed her seat at the table. She avoided their gaze studiously, her cheeks still pink with embarrassment.

“Rose, I—”

Rosalie cut him off.

“Can we talk about it later, Ron?” she asked with a meaningful look at the other end of table.

Ron deflated, “Yeah, okay.”

Rosalie offered him a strained little smile, full of discomfort and embarrassment.

“Where’s Snape?” She asked curiously, avoiding Ron’s gaze and looking instead into Hermione’s flushed face.

“He left not long after you did,” Hermione replied, “We assumed he went after you, which now that I think of it...doesn’t really seem very likely.”

“Perhaps he was Called?” Fred offered still completely at ease despite the tension around them. George nodded his agreement, “it was only a matter of time.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them he’s gone?” Hermione prompted with concern, her eyes darting down the table to where Dumbledore appeared to be in deep conversation with McGonagall and Lupin.

“Nah,” George replied nonchalantly, “He’ll already know.”

Rosalie ate her meal mechanically when it came, barely tasting the food that passed her lips as she dutifully shovelled food into her mouth bite by bite. Time seemed to pass at an excruciating pace, made worse by the fact that she could feel Ron’s gaze burning into her from across the table. Surely he must realise that she didn’t feel the same way?

Conversation around them remained at a minimum, and finally, as the last plate was cleared from the table, she couldn’t take it anymore. Pushing herself to her feet, she thanked Mrs. Weasley for cooking and excused herself from the table, shooting a meaningful look at Ron as she did so, hoping that he would take the hint and follow her from the room.

Rosalie lead him silently through the house, not entirely sure where she should take him for them to have this talk. They ended up tucked away in the back corner of the library, the door shut for privacy and a light ward in place to let them know if anyone was trying to eavesdrop nearby.

Rosalie turned to her friend, “Ron—”

“No, please? Let me...let me just say this?” he interrupted, “That’s not how I wanted you to find out that—well, that I have feelings for you. Strong ones. You make me feel unlike _anything_ I’ve ever felt before. I wanted to tell you so many times, but something always got in the way. So, yeah, this wasn’t perfect, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not true. I think I’m in love with you, Rose.”

Rosalie felt something inside her cringe in sympathy for her best friend. He was pouring his heart out to her and the most she could offer him in return was a brotherly kind of love that would probably sting worse now than if she flat out refused him. Rosalie hung her head as she tried to collect her thoughts, but then his damp, sweaty hands touched her face, loosely cradling her cheeks as he tilted her head back. The slight tremor in his touch betrayed his nerves and her heart clenched painfully for him.

“Ron, I...” She started shaking her head as she fought to find the right words—words that wouldn’t wound him too deeply or cause irreparable damage to their friendship. Was there a right and wrong way to let someone down gently? She had next to no experience in either and she felt ill equipped to handle this with the delicacy and compassion it deserved.

“Just give me a chance, Rose,” He whispered earnestly, “Please.”

She realised what was about to happen a heartbeat before the hot press of his bumbling lips touched her mouth. Rosalie froze in shock. His hands were a little too eager on her face, his lips a little too awkward and excited as he rubbed them against hers trying to coax her lips into action. No spark. No flush of passion. She felt nothing but guilt and an overwhelming sense of growing awkwardness as wet lips and sweaty hands pawed at her.

He moaned.

“Ron, stop...” she told him quietly, pushing him back gently with a hand firmly planted on his chest. He didn’t resist her.

“I can’t do this,” She told him seriously, hoping he could read the apology in her eyes, “You are one of my best friends and I love you for that. Dearly. But I can’t love you the way you want me to—I don’t. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Ron took a step back from her, letting his hands fall from her face. Rosalie discreetly wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and hoped she’d said enough for him to understand without her needing to hammer the point home.

“Nothing? Not even just now when we kissed?” Ron asked trying to catch and hold her gaze. Rosalie didn’t want to tell him how his kiss had done nothing but make her feel uncomfortable.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I just don’t see you like that,” she apologised, “you are one of the most important people in my life, Ron. I need your support and friendship everyday—I want it—but as my friend—as my _best_ friend.”

Ron nodded, hanging his head as he huffed out a self-depreciating sigh, “It’s not like I didn’t know you’d turn me down, but I hoped...”

“Ron...” Rosalie gasped torn between wanting to comfort him and knowing that only thing that would make this better would be a lie. He spoke the truth, and though it tugged at her heart to see him so down on himself, in the back of her mind she knew that it was better that she made this clear now, so that there was no mistaking where she stood. She couldn’t let him think that there was some hope, any hope, that she might one day change her mind.

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Rosalie offered uncomfortably.

“Not as sorry as I am that you don’t,” he sighed, piercing her with tremulous blue eyes full of longing and heartache. It was like a kick in the guts—he was making sure she felt it, she realised, and for a moment anger, instead of guilt, ruled her.

She ruthlessly squashed the impulse to tell him about Snape, knowing that between them they’d caused enough damage to their friendship for one night. Right now, their friendship was reparable. Ron would be beyond furious if he found out about Snape though, especially now and especially because it was Snape—she doubted she could have picked anyone worse in Ron’s eyes. In this moment, it would spell the end of their friendship, and she didn’t want to lose Ron over this. 

Rosalie bit her lip, letting the surge of anger wash over and then seep out of her. Everything about this situation was awkward and wrong. She’d said everything she needed to say, though, what else was there? It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t feel the way he did. That’s all there was too it.

“I think I’ll go home now,” He said finally, his tone flat and deflated.

“Okay,” Rosalie replied in a small voice, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, maybe...” was all the answer she got as he turned and left the room. The click of the door seemed to echo throughout the library with finality as it swung closed behind him and she hoped that the door to their friendship hadn’t swung closed along with it. She wondered what Hermione would have to say about it all? Would Ron force her to take sides over this? Would she judge her for rejecting him? The whole situation was a mess she could do without. Rosalie slumped down into the armchair behind her and let her head fall into her hands. The best she could hope for right now was that Ron wouldn’t be an arse about this. She loved her friend, but he had the capacity to carry a grudge unlike anyone she’d ever met—except maybe Snape, in that respect they were completely alike. Ron was going to need time to come to terms with this though... time they might not have with everything else that was going on around them.

Rosalie sighed. She wanted to take herself upstairs and crawl under the covers of her bed and spend the rest of her days hiding away from the mess of her life. No war, no guilt and no one blurring the lines of friendship, just the softness of her pillow and the warmth of her blanket and the comfort of oblivion. 

“Are you okay?”

Rosalie startled, spinning about at the sound of her friend’s voice. Hermione was hovering uncertainly behind her, worry clouding her brown eyes.

Rosalie nodded, “I’m fine.”

Hermione perched on the seat beside her, “He was crying when he left.”

Rosalie winced, “He told me that he’s in love with me.”

“And you aren’t in love with him,” Hermione surmised.

Rosalie shrugged in exasperation, “No. I’m not. So why do I feel guilty for not returning his feelings? He’s like a brother to me, ‘Mione! I just don’t see him like that.”

Hermione nodded, “I understand.”

“I just don’t want this to come between us, but you know what he’s like—he’ll see this as me rejecting me and this time, he’ll be right! I am rejecting him,” Rosalie huffed, “I just don’t want him to shut me out because he’s angry with me, you know?”

Hermione nodded half-heartedly, that was just the way Ron was after all. He needed time to get it all out of his system and simmer down and then things went back to normal. This would probably be no different. Only, the stronger he judged the humiliation to be, the worse the cooling off period became.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now it’s out in the open,” Hermione sighed, giving her friend a tight hug, “Ron just needs time to pull himself together and find his feet again. Think about how you would feel in his position? I’m not saying you were wrong to be honest with him, but I would be upset if I were standing in his shoes too. Just give him some space, things will go back to normal eventually if we don’t make a fuss over things and give him a chance to ‘save face’ and come to terms with being just being friends again.”

Rosalie nodded and gave her friend a wry smile, “How’d you get to be so smart, ‘Mione?”

Hermione chuckled, “Apparently I read a lot.”

Rosalie smiled wryly at her friend.

“Come on,” Hermione said, pulling her to her feet, “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't seem to keep Snape and Rose off one another anymore, lol! Let me know your thoughts!


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Nineteen**

Draco was easy to spot among the Dark Lord’s faithful. Front and centre, he lay prostrate on the cool marble of the ballroom floor, his robes torn and his face stripped of the white Death Eater mask that would hide his identity; he had been reduced to little more than the Dark Lord’s play thing, his punishment for failure unending. Even from this distance, Severus could see his body trembling, with fear, no doubt, and the after effects of the Cruciatus. Severus knew that his godson would soon break. Draco had not been equipped with the skills or the fortitude to survive this kind of life. A failing, indeed, on his father’s behalf. Lucius Malfoy had primed his son to live a life of luxury and power, never doubting for a second that it might all be stripped away. Oh, how the Malfoy’s had fallen. Now Draco was paying for his father’s sins and his own failure to prove himself someone of worth in the Dark Lord’s eyes.

Narcissa’s punishment: to watch the destruction of her son without intervention.

It pained Severus’ to see them so, but it would serve his purpose well. They were nearing the end of their tether and swaying them from the Dark Lord’s side had never before been so achievable.

Severus kept watch over him throughout the duration of the meeting, through two more bouts of the Cruciatus and his humiliating attempt to clean up his own piss and vomit when the pain grew to be too much. The sight sickened him to the core and for a moment hate flared deep and true throughout his being for the Dark Lord and everything that he represented.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, red eyes singled him out from the rest of his followers and burnt into him, ploughing through his mind with neither skill nor finesse, searching for weakness or compassion—searching for betrayal.

“Does this upssset you, Severusss?” 

Severus kept his face blank behind his mask and his thoughts dispassionate as the Dark Lord swept down from his dais, gliding around Draco’s body with a feverish energy, until they were face to face, mere inches apart, “You godssson, broken and used, lying in his own filth... Does it anger you, Severusss?”

“His weakness sickens me, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord held his gaze, silent and challenging, daring him to falter. Then, as soon as it had come, the pressure in his mind ease and the Dark Lord retreated, “You see, Draconisss, even you godfather resentsss what you have become.”

Severus left without backward glance as the meeting was dismissed, nodding at one or two others as they exited the ballroom, making sure he was seen leaving the manor. He would have to loop back around, slip away and disillusion himself before returning. It was imperative that he wasn’t seen, though once Draco and then Narcissa were discovered missing he would be suspected regardless.

His plan, changed, however when Narcissa caught him in the hall, pulling him into an alcove out of sight as the final few dispersed.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?” he hissed, yanking his arm back out of her grip, “If we were seen—”

“We weren’t,” she replied, her voice little more than a harsh whisper.

Severus glared at her, “I’ll thank you now not to drag me into this mess with you, Narcissa. I have no wish to trade places with your son.”

“And _your_ godson,” She reminded him, her tone cold and unflinching, “You took vows to protect him, Severus. I won’t let you forget that.”

“What would you have me do?” Severus exclaimed, “Nothing and no one can help Draco now. You can thank Lucius for that. Be thankful the Dark Lord still has use for you, or your son would be dead.”

“Don’t think, for one second, that I will forget what Lucius has done to this family.” Narcissa bit out furiously, “I am not here to discuss my husband’s abysmal choices, though. You can help him, Severus. You must. I need potions.”

“The Dark Lord will know from whom you got them,” Severus denied.

“Please,” she breathed, taking his hand in hers, “Please, old friend. You are the only person I can turn to. I am not asking you to heal him. I just want something to dull the pain—the Cruciatus, he is starting to have the tremors, Severus.”

Severus’ heart faltered, “Truly?”

Narcissa nodded, “They are mild—almost unnoticeable—but they will get worse. You know it as well as I do.”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I will need time to brew the potions you need. They are not something that I routinely carry.”

Narcissa heaved out a sigh, “Thank you.”

Severus nodded, “Go, now. I will disillusion myself before leaving.”

Narcissa nodded, her eyes brimming with emotion as she gave his hand a final squeeze, before slipping out and away from him, gliding down the corridor on silent feet. Little did she know that if all went to plan, her son would have the help he needed inside of an hour. It was, unfortunately, too dangerous to take them both at once, but it worked in their favour that Narcissa stayed behind. Slipping out unnoticed with Draco in his current state would be challenging enough and whatever happened, he would need the leverage over Narcissa that Draco presented.

Disillusioning himself, he cast a muffling charm on his feet as he crept back into the hall, retracing his steps to the ballroom. The corridor that was brimming with Death Eaters moments before was now deserted and cloaked in darkness. Severus slunk through the shadows, keeping close to the wall as he moved, travelling as quickly as he dared under disillusionment.

The doors to the ballroom stood open, the room empty and cavernous once more, the lights dimmed. Inside Draco was only just staggering to his feet, his gait awkward and unsteady. 

“Dinky!” he called weakly, his voice hoarse, and barely recognisable.

The small house elf appeared before him, its ears flapping nervously as it took in the state of its master, “Master Draco?”

“Clean up this mess,” Draco ordered.

“Yes, master.”

Severus watched as Draco began to shuffle towards the door, his steps slow and cumbersome. The front of his robes were stained with vomit and urine and there was a small trail of blood leaking from his mouth. Severus had seen the like before, more than once he’d bitten through his own tongue whilst under the Cruciatus—it was the least of his godson’s problems at present. Severus could see the tremor Narcissa spoke of in his hands; time would tell if it became a permanent disability.

“Draco,” Severus whispered as they drew level.

The blonde’s head shot around, wariness filling his gaze as he stared into the shadows. Severus stepped forward, his disillusioned form becoming clearer with movement.

“Severus?”

Severus pulled him into the shadows, casting a quick scourgify over the front of his robes vanishing the vomit and piss from his person. His godson flinched and reared back, his eyes bulging in fear at the sudden movement, before shuttering with embarrassment. Severus ignored the reaction, it was not wholly unexpected.

“Drink this,” Severus ordered as he pulled a small vial of his Cruciatus remedy from within his robes, “It will help ease your muscles.”

Draco obeyed without question taking the proffered vial and downing its contents clumsily almost dropping the potion in his haste. Severus took the empty vial and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You’re leaving the Manor. Tonight,” Severus told him firmly, “but you need to cross the wards willingly or else we will set of the alarms.”

“What?” Draco asked his voice full of hope as he stared up at his godfather.

“You heard me. I don’t have time to offer you more of an explanation, how are you legs? Can you walk properly?”

Draco’s eyes welled up as he nodded rapidly, his relief overflowing and leaking down his face in a steady stream as he began to sob. Severus clasped him on the shoulder awkwardly, bracing himself against his godson’s tears.

“You can fall apart later, Draco. We need to move,” Severus told him.

“What about Mother?” the blonde questioned anxiously as Severus cast the Disillusionment charm over him. He shivered as the cool, runny sensation past over his head and down his body, “I’m not leaving without her.”

“She is already waiting for us,” Severus lied.

Draco nodded, “Okay. Good.”

Their pace was slow, hampered by Draco’s uneven steps as his hobbled along behind his godfather and Severus was grateful that he’d had the forethought to cast a muffling charm on their feet. They’d had to stop several times as the sound of voices reached their ears and it had taken longer than anticipated for them make their way through the house. They were minor obstacles compared to the sight of Wormtail loitering in the Manor’s entrance, however, muttering to himself as he paced the room, clutching his silver hand to his chest nervously.

Several minutes ticked by as Severus eyed the rat barring their way to freedom.

“The fireplace in the kitchens is connected to the floo,” Draco breathed behind him.

Severus shook his head. They weren’t travelling by floo, too easily tracked. They would apparate, first to his home and then on to the safe house Albus hand arranged for Draco and his mother.

It took twenty tedious minutes before Wormtail tired himself out and moved on, darting with sudden purpose back into the house, his eyes determined and gleaming.

“Now?” Draco whispered.

Severus shook his head, making them waiting a further five minutes before he deemed it safe to continue onwards. The grand doors of Malfoy manor swung open on silent hinges and together they slipped into the night. Severus allowed them to sacrifice stealth for speed as they dashed across the manicured lawns, darting as quickly as Draco’s injured body would allow towards shelter and the boundaries of the anti-apparation wards protecting the property. It took them longer than he would have preferred and Draco was panting heavily by the time he felt the tell-tale tingle of magic wash over his skin as they passed through the wards to safety, but they made it and Severus felt his whole body sag with relief.

“Grasp my arm,” He ordered, throwing his arm out for Draco to get hold.

He felt his godson’s hand clamp down around his wrist and they disapparated from sight.

*

They appeared with a _crack!_ in the centre of safe house’s lounge and Albus stood to greet them wearily. It was long past the time he had expected them and he had begun to worry that something had gone awry. Though they looked weary, however, they appeared largely intact.

“Draco, Severus. Welcome.”

The blonde flinched, spinning around to stare at the Headmaster in horror as realisation sunk in. His gaze flit from Severus and back again shocked betrayal alight in his eyes.

“Dumbledore!” Draco exclaimed, confusion and fear warring on his face as he looked to his godfather in askance, “What the—? You brought me to the _Headmaster_!? I thought... I thought I could trust you!”

Severus sighed, “Where did you think I would take you, Draco? Where else could you be safe from the Dark Lord?”

“I thought I could trust you! I didn’t think you’d hand deliver me to the other side!” Draco stared at him in disbelief, “You’re... a _spy_? For _them_?”

Severus nodded, “For the Light. Yes.”

Fury darkened the blonde’s brow, “You traitor. All this time I believed you loyal to the Dark Lord, like my father, and you lied to me? You lied to my family.”

“Loyal to the Dark Lord? Like you are, I suppose. Yes I lied to you and I would do so again without question,” Severus scoffed, “You have barely escaped with your life, Draco, and your transgressions are minor. What do you think will happen should my true allegiances be revealed?”

“He will kill us for this,” Draco stammered, his hands going to his hair, tugging on the blond strands in distress, “You’ve brought me down with you.”

“Voldemort will not be given the opportunity,” Albus intervened, his voice calm and soothing, “You are safe now. Severus brought you here in order to offer you a way out of this life, Draco. This is not a trap. I have arranged for this safe house to be made available for you and your mother, together you will be safe here as it is under the Fidelius and I am your Secret Keeper.”

Draco shook his head.

“Where is my mother? You said she was waiting for us,” Draco hissed, staring back at his godfather venomously.

“She will be joining you here imminently, once she has assisted us with a certain task,” Albus replied soothingly.

“What task?” Draco demanded, “What are you making her to do?”

“Nothing that is beyond her reach,” Albus reassured him.

“You bastard,” Draco hissed defeated, glaring at Severus through slitted eyes, “You lying bastard.”

Severus stared back impassively, “Is this not preferable to being tortured by the Dark Lord for sport? Would you not rather stow away to safety and remain out of harm’s way than continue on as you were? Yes, I lied to you, Draco, perhaps you should be grateful, however, that I saved your life. At great risk to my own, I might add.”

“Fuck you.”

Albus looked on with sympathetic eyes, “I will take it from here, Severus. Why don’t you go get some rest while you can?”

Severus sighed.

It was well after midnight and it would likely be some hours before Narcissa worked herself up into a sufficient enough state to contact him again. There was time. Sleep would do him the world of good, he was bone weary and fatigued to the point that sleep seemed somewhat achievable—desirable, even. With a slight nod to the Headmaster he disapparated once more ignoring his godson’s angry eyes as he took his leave. Dumbledore could deal with this mess for now. At this point there would be very little he could say or do to Draco to make him change his tune anyway.

Grimmauld Place dark and silent as he appeared in the kitchen that someone had wiped clean and put back to sorts after the festivities of the evening. He had missed dinner he realised suddenly, as his stomach gave a half-hearted rumble. He was too tired to even contemplate eating at this point though. Instead he took the rare moment of peaceful solitude to sigh heavily, his eyes falling shut involuntarily as he swayed on his feet. He could feel the fatigue drawing at his body and weighting his limbs. Tonight, perhaps, might have been a night that he’d have allowed himself a small dose of Dreamless Sleep, but he couldn’t take the chance that Narcissa would send for him sooner rather than later and he needed to be fully alert when he confronted her.

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes he made his way through the dark house on nothing but the strength of his memory. The stairs creaked underfoot as he climbed them with bone weary legs onto the landing and past the wolf’s room where snuffled snores let him know that Lupin was both in residence for the evening and well and truly out for the count. He sneered spitefully at the door as he passed it.

It was half his goddamned luck.

Something shimmered past his peripheries, winking at him from down the hall and Severus spun around to face it, his weary mind snapping to attention once more as he peered into the darkness.

Nothing.

He drew his wand, his suspicious nature rearing its head as he continued on past Lupin’s door thinking vaguely of what he would do to the wolf if he’d gone to bed and left Rosalie unprotected while he slept through a Death Eater attack. The wards surrounding the house felt whole and intact though.

Severus noted the disruption in his wards before he’d made it within five feet of his room, the foreign magic shimmering at him as he drew nearer. He slowed his step, his senses expanding as he assessed the damage. It was subtle, but it was there and his curiosity piqued as he recognised the familiar pulse of her magic interwoven through his. Not an intruder after all; Rosalie. Severus felt an odd mixture of surprise and admiration course through him that she’d managed to gain entry through his wards. Curiously, he laid his hand against the smooth grain of the wood, the wards hummed under his touch, altered but not destroyed. Impressive.

He pushed the door open gently, stepping across the threshold into the room. She was asleep in his bed, her pale skin luminescent in the moonlight that streamed in through the open blinds and her dark hair an inky smudge across his pillows.

Severus closed the door silently behind him and moved further into the room, his eyes never straying from her body. The sight of her wrapped up in his bed sheets stirred something powerful inside him, something at once possessive and protective. It was a foreign feeling, but not an unpleasant one. He let his cloak slip from his shoulders easily, draping the heavily material across the armchair by the window as he was struck by the memory of Rosalie Potter at age eleven. Who could have known that that scruffy child with her messy hair hacked boy-short and her ridiculously oversized, threadbare clothing would one day turn into the woman he saw here now? She’d looked more like a little boy than a little girl at her Sorting Ceremony, her resemblance to James Potter a burning slap in the face. Now, though, she resembled neither James nor Lily overtly, but was an appealing mix of them both—unique. Lily would have been proud of the woman her daughter had become. He was sure of it.

Severus knew he should probably wake her and send her back to her own room when her self-appointed godfather slept mere meters from their door. They didn’t need anything else to fan the flames of the wolf’s suspicion. Her face was peaceful and wonderfully free of the stress that often plagued her throughout the day though and he didn’t truly have the inclination to send her packing. Instead, he stripped himself down to his undergarments and moved to the vacant side of the bed. She didn’t stir as he slipped in behind her, brushing her fragrant hair off of his pillow in the process.

“Severus?” She murmured.

Severus allowed his fingers to trace the delicate indent of her spine down her back before draping his arm around her waist. She was soft and pliant, her skin sleep-warmed under his fingers as he pulled her back into his embrace.

“Yes,” he replied softly, “go back to sleep.”

Rosalie rolled in his arms, eyes still heavily lidded in sleep as she gazed up at him through her lashes alluringly. Her soft breasts pressing in against his chest through the material of her nightgown as warm hands stroked down his side. Completely unable to resist the temptation, he pressed his lips against hers in a brief kiss which she responded to with a lazy smile.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’ok. Did it work?” She slurred softly, her voice still hazy with sleep.

Severus nodded, as he brushed her long hair back out of her face.

“The first part was a success. Albus is with Draco now,” he replied, hooking his thigh over hers as she slipped her knee between his legs.

“Now we wait,” She concluded.

He nodded, “Now we wait.”

Severus sighed as she pressed a kiss into his neck, her hand still caressing his side aimlessly. He could feel the tension literally melting out of his frame as his body became heavier and heavier in the bed.

“Ron is in love with me,” She told him quietly, sounding more awake, “Or at least he thinks he is.”

“Indeed,” Severus finally replied after a beat of silence, “that fact was rather hard to miss as I caught him confessing his love to you whilst you lay unconscious in the infirmary. He was... quite ardent in his passion.”

Rosalie cringed, tucking her face into his chest, “it was awkward. Really awkward. I told him that I didn’t feel the same way—it didn’t go all that well. He was gutted. I made him cry.”

“He will recover,” Snape told her, “In time, he will move on.”

Rosalie tilted her head back so she could meet his gaze, his eyes midnight pools in the pale muted light. His expression was guarded and she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind that shuttered expression. Was he speaking from experience, perhaps? Would he ‘move on’ once he was back at Hogwarts and she had to remain here at Grimmauld Place? It made her feel sick to her stomach, the idea of being reduced to nothing more than a memory. Not when simply lying in Snape’s arms felt bigger and more vital to her than the reality of kissing Ron. Ron had left her feeling bereft. Snape made her feel alive simply being in his presence.

Holding his gaze she leant in, pressing her lips against his, feeling justified when he immediately kissed her back. His arms tightened around her frame, drawing her in. Somehow, despite her fears that Snape would tire of her, she didn’t truly believe that she meant so little to him. Their relationship had evolved so slowly, so naturally, that she couldn’t believe that he could simply brush her aside when he’s had his fill. It filled her with pride knowing that she was one of only a handful of people that Snape trusted. However you read it—that meant something.

Rosalie allowed her gaze to study his face as the parted once more, taking in the stubble that shadowed his jaw, the crease between his pinched brows and the faint strain lines around his mouth. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath his eyes. He looked drenched in fatigue and she felt suddenly guilty for keeping him up.

“You look exhausted,” She told him seriously, her fingertips smoothing over his rough jaw in concern.

“I am tired,” he agreed.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked simply, knowing that she would leave happily if he wished it, so that he might get the rest he needed.

“No,” Severus told her, surprising even himself at the abrupt refusal.

“Okay,” She smiled, settling herself into his embrace, delight suffusing her in a warm glow. One word and a little bubble of happiness had popped into existence inside her chest.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured into her hair, his voice already slurred with sleep.

Rosalie ran her hand down his back as she shut her eyes, the edges of sleep creeping back in with unexpected ease as she let her mind drift once more. To her surprise, sleep seemed to take over in no time at all and she was only vaguely aware of Severus’ body slackening against hers, his breathing growing deep and even as he too drifted off. She hoped he had good dreams, she thought dimly, her own mind slowing as the pull of sleep grew stronger—or perhaps to have no dreams was kinder. He deserved some rest.

Rosalie smiled.

It was her last conscious thought before she too succumbed to the pull of sleep.

*

Severus jolted awake to the sun burning brightly into his eyelids. He groaned and pressed his face into the pillow, feeling disorientated and confused. Merlin, what time was it? Why was he still in bed? Had he drugged himself the night before?

A pleasant weight was resting against his back, pressing into his side and warming his exposed skin and it shifted as he pushed up onto his elbows. Rosalie. The previous night came flooding back to him and he recalled coming home to find her in his bed and allowing her stay there with him, probably against better judgement. He’d not thought either of them would sleep more than a couple hours together, given their respective sleeping habits, but it appeared they’d both slept the night through for perhaps the first time in months.

Severus reached for his wand and cast a quick Tempus charm. It was just past dawn, early enough that Lupin would likely still be abed and he breathed a small sigh of relief, thanking Merlin for small mercies, as he flopped back onto the pillow.

Rosalie stirred behind him and he felt something warm and soft trail down his back as her hand smoothed down his spine.

Warm lips pressed as kiss into the back of his shoulder, “Morning.”

Severus felt his lips curve upwards as he rolled onto his back, taking in her rumpled state and the tousled mess of her hair as he scooted back to sit against the headboard, “Good morning.”

“What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Still early,” he replied easily.

“Is it?” Rosalie smiled up at him from her pillow, “I feel amazing.”

Severus could only agree, watching with interest as she rolled into him, her cheek coming to rest on his bare thigh. Her eyes were shining as she glanced up him, mischief in her gaze.

“I can’t believe I slept so long,” she breathed, “and no nightmares.”

Severus murmured his agreement, but his focus was suddenly centred on the warm hand that was creeping up his inner thigh and the mouth that was mere inches from his cock. Severus moaned, almost inaudibly, as her fingers ghosted over his burgeoning erection. It twitched needily under her caress—wantonly.

“We should refrain. We need to get up as there are things I should be doing,” he protested weakly, “not to mention, you’re self appointed dogfather is just down the hall.”

“Mmm,” She agreed with a smile, “you shouldn’t call him that.”

He didn’t protest as her hand moved to the waistband of boxers, though, lifting his hips obediently as she hooked her fingers under the material and pulled them down. Rosalie pressed her lips together and glanced up at him nervously. Her heart was a nervous flutter inside her chest as she reached out and took him into her hands.

“Rosalie, you don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Severus told her, anxiety in her expression as his fingers carded through her hair.

“I know.”

She took the head of his cock in her mouth, her lips parting over the flared tip as she suckled him in gently.

Severus sighed softly with pleasure, scooting down in the bed to give her better access as she crawled over him, settling between his splayed legs. She had little more than a vague notion of how this was supposed to work, trusting her instincts and Severus to guide her as her mouth began to slide over his hard flesh, trying to judge by the sound of his moans and sighs what he enjoyed and what he didn’t.

He felt hot under her lips, the head spongy and smooth as it slipped past her lips and onto her tongue and Rosalie swirled her tongue around the head, collecting the taste of him.

“Rose...” he breathed, sounding far away and vacant, though his eyes never left her and the weight of his hands still rested lightly in her hair.

His flavour was mild and musky—not nearly as displeasing as she’d imagined—and so she repeated the action, smiling in triumph over the ragged moan he released as the soft underside over tongue slipped over the very tip of his cock.

Heat began to pool deep inside her at the sound, making her clench her thighs together in anticipation as she returned to her task with new enthusiasm.

She sucked as much of his length into her mouth as was comfortable, her cheeks hollowing around him as she bobbed her head up and down, her hands taking over what her mouth couldn’t.

“Merlin, Rose...that’s it—”

They both flinched at the sound of someone apparating into the room and Rosalie gagged around him as he accidently thrust up into her mouth making her cough and splutter as she pulled away from him. Before she could blink back the tears that had begun to leak from her watering eyes, the blankets we’re suddenly thrown over her head and she was plunged into darkness.

“Wha—”

“I is sorry to be interrupting, Mister Snape, sir,” a small voice squeaked anxiously from outside the covers, “Mistress be sending Dippy to tell you that Mistress is needing to be speaking with you urgently, please, sir! She be requesting that you be coming to Malfoy Manor at once!”

A house elf had sprung them in the act—Narcissa Malfoy’s house elf to be exact. Rosalie’s cheeks flamed, embarrassment burning hotly on her face as she wiped at the tear tracks down her face, inadvertently brushing the hot length that still stood alongside her face.

“Thank you, Dippy,” Severus replied, his hand on her head encouraging her to stay hidden beneath the blankets as she shifted about, “Unfortunately, I am unable to call on her at Malfoy Manor at present, but you may tell your Mistress I will meet her at Spinner’s End in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir!” the elf squeaked as the small elf disapparated once more.

Rosalie groaned with embarrassment as she felt the covers being lifted off of her head, “I may die of embarrassment.”

“I apologise, if I hurt you just now,” he offered, concern creasing his brow as his hand cupped her face taking in her red cheeks and watery eyes.

“I’m alright. Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting....that.” she offered lamely, “It won’t say anything, will it?”

Severus smirked at her, “the elf saw nothing more than the back of your head. I very much doubt he even realised who you were...or cared for that matter. It will be fine.”

“Merlin, I hope so. We were just caught in the act while I had your cock in my mouth—I can see the headlines now: ‘Girl-Who-Lives-to-Give-Head blows Potions Master in Early Morning Rendezvous’!” Rosalie exclaimed, her cheeks still crimson as she crawled back up the bed.

Severus chuckled.

Rosalie blink in surprise, gazing up at him in awe as the sound of his laugh washed over her, filling her with incredible warmth. It was deep and rumbling, rich like dark chocolate. She smiled brightly, filled with pride that she’d been able to induce such a response from one usually so reserved.

“Let’s hope that is not the case,” Severus replied, pulling her mouth into his. Her lips were pink and lightly swollen in an appealing sort of way that reminded him of her recent efforts. Severus kissed her gently, “I must go.”

Rosalie nodded, sighing as his arms tightened around her once, briefly, before he slipped from the bed and began pulling his clothes on.

“Don’t let Lupin catch you here,” He told her as he pulled up his pants, buttoning them at the waist with ease, “make sure you shower before you see him.”

From anyone else it might have sounded like a dismissal, but she knew better what a dismissal from Severus Snape sounded like. Instead she smiled and crawled to her knees behind him, winding her arms around his shoulders and draping her body across his back as he pulled on his boots.

“Good luck?”

Severus nodded once briskly and stood, mentally checking himself as he reached for his wand, “This should take no more than a couple of hours.”

“I’ll see you this evening, then.”

Turning away from the appealing sight of Rosalie sprawled across his bed he swept from the room, mentally composing himself to face Narcissa Malfoy as he strode through the house towards the kitchen. For all that he knew Narcissa that wanted to break free from the chains of the Dark Lord, fear was a strong motivator. Only a fool was unafraid of the Dark Lord and his power.

Grabbing the floo pot from above the hearth he took a minute to stare into the flames as he drew masks in around him and composed his features. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he doused the flames in the fine powder, turning them a familiar green. 

“Spinners End!”

*

No more than a couple of minutes had passed between Severus’ arrival at Spinner’s End and the anxious rap that sounded at his front door, urgent and needy. Taking a moment to school his expression into its usual blank mask, Severus strode across to the door and threw it open, wand at the ready.

“Come in,” He hissed, glancing out into the street over Narcissa’s shoulder as she darted inside the dark house. The door creaked as it swung shut behind her, its pane of glass rattling emptily.

He turned his dark gaze on the woman before him; she was not bearing the strain of Draco’s disappearance well. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a woman of impeccable grooming for as long as he’d known her, even in the hours following the birth of his godson, her make-up had been immaculate, her hair coiffed and her face aglow with new love. She’d borne everything life had thrown thus far with poise and composure, but with the disappearance of her son, the cracks were beginning to show. She looked haggard and worn, her eyes strained with fatigue and a growing sense of worry. Her hands were clasped before her, bony and frail looking, gripping and twisting around one another.

He regretted having to causing her this pain.

“Narcissa,” he greeted with a slight nod.

“Draco is missing,” she informed him without preamble, “I waited for him to return to his chambers last night following our meeting, but he never returned. I am forbidden from assisting him, as you know, but I often have Dinky tend to him throughout the night so that he might be seen up and about the following day. It is important they see Draco as resilient.”

She was rambling; her words coming thick and fast as she laid her concerns out before him. She trusted him to help her, as she should. Draco was Severus’ godson and he’d sworn and oath on the day of his birth to protect and guide Draco through life when his parents were unable.

“There was no sign of him in the ballroom when I returned. Dinky, Draco’s house elf, reports being ordered by Draco to clean up the mess they’d left that evening, though. He said he saw Draco leave the ballroom under his own power—I just, I don’t know what to believe. Do you think it’s possible the Dark Lord has him?”

“No,” Severus replied firmly, “Draco is safe and well. I extracted him from the Manor, myself.”

Narcissa stared at him in confusion, “You...what?” 

“Come. Sit down,” Severus offered, “I will get you a Calming Draught.”

“No,” she denied, stepping back out of his reach her face settling into a mask of betrayal, “You have Draco? I don’t understand, Severus. Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been up for hours making myself _sick_ with the very idea that the Dark Lord may have finally tired of his games and killed my son—or that... that Draco may have abandoned me—and you...—Why wouldn’t you say anything? Why would you wait for me to come to you like this?”

“Because my actions were not at the Dark Lord’s behest,” He told her plainly, “and because it was essential that you left the Manor of your own free will so that I am not implicated in your disappearance.”

“My disappearance?” she parroted taking another wary step back.

“I am a spy, Narcissa. I have been working for Albus Dumbledore for the past seventeen years,” Severus admitted, “I am not loyal to the Dark Lord, nor have I been since before—”

“Lily,” Narcissa breathed.

Severus nodded, “Lily.”

She was panting heavily, looking at him with wary, distrustful eyes as she tried to make sense of the information she’d been given, “Why are you telling me this now? After all this time!? I have been _nothing_ but a loyal friend to you and this is how you choose to repay me? You’ve lied to me for the past seventeen years while I’ve tied myself in knots over the very idea of the Dark Lord returning and then what he would force upon first my husband and eventually my son—and all the while you’ve just stood by and watched!”

“What did you expect me to say?” His hissed, “Did you expect me to confide in you when doing so may have cost me my very life? Would you have accepted things as they are when your husband and son remained safely by your side and your position in life was unquestioned? I realise that this must be difficult for you to accept—”

Narcissa scoffed, “How am I to trust anything that comes out of your traitorous mouth? You lie to me for seventeen years and then take my son as blackmail against me—do not take me for a fool, Severus! What is it that you want?”

Severus stood back and inclined his head.

“I would never presume to think of you as such, but understand what I am offering you here,” he said carefully, “We have you son, your sister and your husband, but we are not the Dark Lord, your family is safe. This is your chance to leave the Dark Lord’s side and put this war behind you once and for all.”

“At what price? I am not so naive to think that you won’t want something from me first. You’ve jeopardised my family’s very well-being for this and your own position within his ranks,” she hissed, “Tell me Severus, what is so important to you that you are willing to risk everything and betray the very people who have been your closest friends for the last two decades?”

Severus stared at her appraisingly, “I need your assurances first that you will help me with my assignment and not betray me to the Dark Lord for your own gain.”

“And you will release both my husband and son to me in return?” She countered without missing a beat.

“We will relocate you and Draco to a safe house out of Britain—Lucius must be kept secure until Voldemort is no more,” Severus told her.

“Lucius comes with us,” Narcissa demanded.

Severus narrowed his eyes, “Then we will require an unbreakable vow from him to ensure his compliance. He must in no way, shape or form have any further involvement in the war and vow to answer for his crimes when the time comes that he is brought before the Wizengamot. He must also vow to cease all further attempts at physical contact with Miss Potter.”

Narcissa glared at him, her ice blue eyes piercing him with rage. Above all else, she _hated_ to be reminded of her husband’s sick predilections—especially his obsession with Rosalie Potter—it was humiliating, but it needed to be said to ensure that Rosalie would remain safe from Lucius Malfoy.

“You lay down your terms and mock me in the same breath!”

“I speak only the truth; he has lost all reason in the face of his obsession! He came for her the minute he escaped Azkaban. It was my own hand that prevented Lucius from assaulting Miss Potter in full view of—” 

“If she cannot even protect herself from the unwanted advances of man, how do you expect her to defeat the Dark Lord in all his power? You are condemning us all to death!”

“She will not fail, Narcissa,” Severus stated coldly. Unbendingly.

Her ice blue eyes cut through him, fully of disdain and contempt, “What choice do you leave me?”

“None,” Severus replied, “if you do not comply we will use Draco in your place.”

“You bastard,” she breathed, turning away from him as she fought to compose herself once more. Fury radiated off of her in waves that were palpable, “an oath then?”

Severus nodded and she withdrew her wand slowly and with measured movements.

“I, Narcissa Malfoy, do hereby swear on my magic that I will do everything in my power to help Severus Snape on his current assignment and not betray him to the Dark Lord or any sympathisers to his cause.”

A silver chain formed gradually as she spoke, encircling her body as she began to weave the oath around herself. The chain grew brighter and more tangible with every word she spoke until it was lighting the dark hall around them.

Severus watched on with satisfaction, nodding when the oath had been completed to his liking.

“This I promise,” she finished and the chain shone brilliantly for a moment before absorbing into her body with a slight pulse that lit up her skin.

“Good,” Severus nodded, slipping his wand back into his robes.

“What must I do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots happening in this chapter! Let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> Also just a quick note to let you know that I am going on holidays for the next two weeks and so the next update won't be until I get back.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twenty**  

 

 

The goblin controlling the Black Bloodline Vault eyed them carefully, suspicion evident in his eyes as they flicked over Narcissa’s shoulder and back again.

“Will your...associate be joining us?” He asked the blond witch, beady eyes flicking once more to Severus despite the borrowed invisibility cloak that concealed his presence. Severus wondered if the goblin could truly see him, of if it was indeed a lucky guess. 

Narcissa nodded sharply.

The goblin huffed and jerked his head for them to follow as he climbed down from behind his counter, “he may not enter the vault.”

“Naturally,” Narcissa agreed primly.

“Come,” the goblin barked as he began leading them through Gringotts’ maze of halls. Severus trailed behind them as closely as he dared, hyperaware that keen eyes were no doubt following their every movement through the bank. Though he remained invisible to unwanted observers, the goblin currently leading Narcissa very publicly through the bank would be known, in the right circles, as a Black goblin and unaffiliated with the Malfoy accounts. It would raise questions (not the right ones hopefully), but any suspicion could prove damaging if it turned the Dark Lord’s attention to this visit. The sooner they were away from prying eyes, the better. 

Severus ignored the suspicious weight of the goblin’s eyes on him as they climbed aboard the carriage that would take them down to the deepest level of the bank’s vaults, where only the oldest and most wealthy pureblood families housed their treasures and heirlooms. They descended through the levels at breakneck speed, rocketing around corners through tunnels and enchantments designed to foil even the most crafty of thieves, yet he was reminded that Voldemort, in Quirrell’s body, had somehow made it in and out of the bank in pursuit of the philosopher’s stone in Potter’s first year—while crafty, it was not as impenetrable as the goblins would have them believe.

It took ten minutes for them to descend deep enough into the bank’s underground to arrive at the vault. They came to a screeching stop exactly outside the vault door and Narcissa rose from her seat, cool and seemingly unaffected by the whole process as she stepped free of the cart. Severus followed, removing the cloak as he stepped onto the platform behind them.

“He who comes on honest business, should have no need to conceal his identity,” the goblin huffed, shooting a pointed glare at Severus as he stepped in front of him, barring him further access to the vault.

“I am merely accompanying Mrs. Malfoy on business. You well know these are dangerous times, we do not wish for our venture to become public knowledge, that is all. Would your enchantments have not prevented me coming even this far if my intentions were not honest?” Severus enquired evenly.

The goblin glared at him, “You may not enter the vault.”

Severus nodded. Blood access was required in order to enter a bloodline vault and as such he had known that he would be unable to accompany Narcissa inside once they’d arrived at their destination. Reluctantly, he’d described Slytherin’s Lock to the witch whilst still at Spinner’s End, watching as speculative gleam had entered her cool eyes. 

“Lady Malfoy,” The goblin beckoned, stepping up to the vault and gesturing to the vault door. There was recess in the intricately carved door, perfectly shaped for one’s hand to fit against it, palm down against the wood. Narcissa followed the goblin’s instructions as she laid her palm down against the smooth surface of the door. She gasped softly as something sharp darted out to prick her finger, stealing the sample of blood that would determine her heritage and her right to access what lay beyond the vault’s doors.

For a long moment, nothing happened and Narcissa looked to the goblin in askance, “What is the meaning of this?”

“So impatient,” the goblin grumbled in reprimand, gesturing to the door that had disengaged with a faint hissing whoosh as it swung open with a gust of stale air.

Narcissa stepped across the threshold without issue, disappearing into the vault as Severus watched on from the platform outside the vault door. From his vantage point he could see inside the cavernous depths of the vault, noting with some discomfort, that it was far larger than he’d anticipated. Countless priceless artefacts—many of them, no doubt, Dark in nature—lined the walls and floor, simply piled somewhat carelessly atop one another in disorganised chaos. There were likely _centuries_ worth of artefacts Narcissa would need to wade through, finding the Locket amongst it could take hours, he realised suddenly.

The idea of lingering for any length of time, made him anxious about what might be waiting for them on the surface. The Malfoy family was no longer well respected within the Dark Lord’s ranks and all it would take is one enterprising soul looking to work his way up the Dark Lord’s ranks to report having seen Narcissa to attract unwanted attention. 

There was nothing to be done about it, though.

It felt like hours had passed when Narcissa finally reappeared inside the vault door; Severus estimated it had been close to two and his relief at seeing her was near palpable. Her eyes were cool and calculating as she studied him shrewdly; in her hand Slytherin’s Locket dangled from loose fingers.

“Slytherin’s Locket,” She mused lightly, “I suspected as much when you were describing it to me—as any Slytherin Alumni would—but now I know for sure. This is a priceless heirloom.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, noting that she had yet to exit the vault. She was staying strategically out of reach, where he could not physically enter the vault, nor could magic penetrate its wards. 

Narcissa smiled, “Tell me again why I should give it to you.”

“We’ve been over this, Narcissa. I am offering you the chance to save your family,” Severus responded, his tone carefully bland, “This is your chance to escape the Dark Lord’s reaches once and for all. Your family has fallen out of favour, what chance do you truly believe you have at his side?”

Narcissa gaze blandly at him, her face carefully blank as she weighed her options. Her eyes dropped meaningfully to the locket still dangling from loose fingers, “I guess that would depend on how greatly he values _this_?”

Severus felt himself stiffen with unease. Not even he fully understood what it was Narcissa held between them. He knew not what power the locket held, nor what sway it might have over the Dark Lord, only that it was vitally necessary to ending him once and for all. 

“He would kill you on sight for ever having laid eyes on it,” Severus hissed, taking a gamble and lying through his teeth, the subterfuge coming naturally.

“Just like he will when Potter fails and my family is left vulnerable to his punishment? We will be branded traitors for our defection!” She snarled violently, her eyes flashing with outrage and fear. Fear for her family’s wellbeing.

“Potter _will—not—fail_ ,” Severus bit out forcefully

“She is a _child_ , Severus!” Narcissa cried in desperate exasperation, “what possible hope does she have against a man who rose to power before she was even born!?”

“That _woman_ hasn’t been a child for a very long time. She is more powerful than you or I can even begin to comprehend. She _will_ defeat the Dark Lord, Narcissa, one way or another and when she does you can choose to been seen as supporters or Dark Lord sympathisers. Either way your family remains in a perilous position until the Dark Lord is dead. The choice is yours,” Severus demanded, “There is nothing more to say on the topic.”

Narcissa hesitated, half turning from him in distress.

“I would remind you that you’ve already sworn an oath to me,” Severus added after a beat.

“It is not impossible to break an oath—it was not an unbreakable vow,” she hissed.

Severus inclined his head, “Then choose.”

*

The hum of Dark magic radiating off of the locket was refined, its influence so subtle it would, no doubt, be almost indiscernible to an inexperienced practitioner. Yet Rosalie had reacted to it the moment she stepped into his office; her back had snapped taut, her gaze turned wary and her mood darkened as she moved into the room, coming over to glance at the piece that, for now, lay dormant on his desk. It only strengthened his belief that she was the final piece to the puzzle. Albus’ heart sank at the realisation, weighed down by grief at what was to come. He had suspected, of course, his suspicion had piqued as soon as he’d come to realise what Tom Riddle’s diary was back in Rosalie’s second year—he’d put two and two together when she’d begun displaying talents that had been passed down through Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline for generations: parseltongue most notably, an incredibly rare and misunderstood gift. He’d hoped that he’d been mistaken, unfortunately, it was not to be. Now he wondered, whether even Voldemort realised the truth of what he’d done—surely he must, to have been able to possess her as he had that night at the Ministry. As it was, it was no small mercy that Miss Granger had yet to figure it out. It was crucial that Rosalie be kept in the dark until the last possible moment—to be left to stew over such a fact would be her undoing. Severus would eventually need to be informed, of course, so that someone knew what must occur at the end should anything prevent him from passing on the final message himself. After that it would be anyone’s game. Voldemort would be mortal once more.

Albus’ eyes strayed to his Potion’s Master, noting the ease with which Severus and Rosalie were finally able to interact. It made his heart shine with pride. He’d always known that if they gave themselves half a chance, they would find in one another someone that they could relate to. They were the same breed of person—cut from the same cloth of experience—and Rosalie could learn from Severus’ mistakes. Mistakes that had lead him down the path of Darkness where he’d almost lost his way. It made him wonder how Severus would take the news that she must die so that they all might live? It was a conversation for another day. For now, they still had time.

Albus sighed, gesturing for Rosalie to take a seat beside Severus. Her hand drifted beneath her fringe, rubbing absently at the scar as she complied.

“How do we destroy it?” she asked without preamble.

Albus gazed appraisingly at her over the rim of his spectacles, “The same way you disposed of Tom Riddle’s Diary—with basilisk venom.”

“Basilisk venom? I mean, I still have the fang, sir. Would that even work?” She asked sceptically.

“It is doubtful,” Albus replied, “Gryffindor Sword, however, is made from the finest goblin steel. As it happens, Rose, you handed us the ultimate weapon against the Dark Lord’s artefacts when you used the sword to defeated Slytherin’s basilisk. Goblin steel is well known for its ability to incorporate into itself anything that has the ability to make it stronger.”

“Like when I killed the basilisk,” She finished, in understanding.

“Indeed,” Albus agreed with satisfied nod.

“Are you telling me we have a weapon that is infused with the very essence of basilisk venom?” Severus asked, stunned at what he was hearing.

Albus nodded, “yes, exactly so.”

“When will we destroy it, Sir?” Rosalie asked eager to get the job done so that they could move on to the next impossible task.

“Soon. It will need to be done away from Hogwarts, I cannot risk exposing the children to that much Dark Magic, nor do I want to risk damaging the wards so soon after they have been repaired,” Albus replied solemnly.

“Dare I even ask what magic could be so powerful as to pose a risk to the school’s wards and require basilisk venom to dispose of it?” Severus wondered quietly.

Rosalie eyed him shrewdly, “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“It is a matter the will require much thought. Grimmauld Place is not a feasible option for obvious reasons, I will contact you when I have formulated an appropriate plan,” Albus told her.

Rosalie nodded.

“It will be odd not returning this year,” She murmured, glancing around the office at the familiar stone walls and portraits. 

“It is for the best. Your safety, as well as that of the school is essential, Rose, otherwise you would be joining those of your year mates that are returning this year.”

Rosalie nodded again. They’d been through it all before, after all. Not only was she at risk by returning, but her presence all but ensured that Hogwarts remained in Voldemort’s spotlight. They would be looking for her come September first, waiting to see what move they made and if she would come out of hiding. She wouldn’t risk the safety of her classmates if she could help it. The uncertainty of it all rattled her though. Snape too would return to his post as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, bar the odd weekend or Friday night he could slip away to continue on with her training. She couldn’t help but wonder what that would mean for them and this new aspect of their relationship they’d begun. She could admit to herself that she was already half in love with him and it terrified her to think she might not be as vital to him as he’d become to her. 

She wondered if she should be feeling guilty that she was more worried about losing Snape than not returning for her final year. She spent more time thinking about him, than she did contemplating Voldemort’s horcruxes most days.

“I know this forced restriction to your freedom has been difficult for you,” Albus continued, perhaps believing her silence was due to her melancholy over her continued ‘imprisonment’, “Grimmauld Place is the safest place we have for you at the moment outside of Hogwarts. I would let you stay at the Burrow, but it is not well enough protected and far too well known amongst the wrong circles. The Weasley’s are safer without you there, my dear.”

Rosalie nodded, “I know. It’s okay.”

“We will readdress the situation come Christmas,” Albus promised her.

“I have ensured Potter that her training will continue despite the recommencement of the school year,” Snape offered, and really it shouldn’t surprise her anymore that he was able to read her so well, “Perhaps, where appropriate, Professor Sinistra might take on some of the house obligations that take up much of my time on those weekends where I will return to Grimmauld Place to fulfil this promise?” 

Albus nodded, “I will speak with her at her earliest convenience.”

“Excellent,” Severus replied, nodding his thanks.

“I think that concludes out business for the day then,” Albus informed them, rising from behind his desk, “I will contact you when I have determined our next move, Rose.”

“Okay,” Rosalie replied, standing to follow him across to the floo.

“Perhaps, Severus, you’ll see Rosalie home?”

Rosalie followed Severus into the floo, her mind feeling cluttered and full. She hardly noted the wash of green flames or the flash of heat that accompanied them as they were whisked out of Dumbledore’s office. 

They arrived back at Grimmauld Place, pressed together tightly, Severus arms keeping her supported as they exited the floo. 

“When will you have to return Hogwarts?” Rosalie asked as they made their way into the lounge. 

Severus sighed, “I believe the morning of September first will be sufficient. Defence Against the Dark Arts has significantly less pre-semester preparations to attend to—nothing that cannot be completed in an hour or so as I have already seen to the worst of it.”

Rosalie smiled, watching as he poured himself a couple of fingers of scotch and took a seat on the threadbare couch with the air of someone who had had a long day. She drifted across to him, shucking off her sandals and climbing onto the couch beside him. She wedged herself in between his body and the corner of the couch, her legs draped across his lap.

“Does that mean they’ll send someone here to take your place when you leave?” She asked, as Severus warm hand wrapped around her ankle.

His hand skated up her leg, tracing the smooth skin idly, “It is possible, though with the Dark Lord no longer actively seeking you out, it is less essential that you have a twenty four hour guard. There will also be significantly less traffic through Grimmauld Place than there was over the summer. Lupin will continue on in the same manner, whether Albus chooses to post a new guard with such limited resources is another matter.”

Rosalie nodded thoughtfully. Her head resting back on the cushions behind her as she pondered the notion that Dumbledore might leave her and her friends here unguarded after ensuring a round the clock guard had not left her side since she’d arrived here at the start of summer. Remus was an infrequent resident, becoming more and more infrequent as time pushed on. Yet who could be spared to live alongside them, three almost fully-trained wizards? They were more than capable of looking themselves in a crisis. Mostly. Perhaps it was best that they were left to their own devices so that they might research Voldemort’s horcruxes without interruption or fear of discovery.

Rosalie parted her legs as Severus’ hand slid up her leg once more, where it hovered over her knee waveringly before taking the hint and sliding back down the inside of her thigh under her dress.

Rosalie shivered pleasantly.

“Will you miss me?” She breathed canting her hips up into his hand tellingly, her eyes fixed on his dark stare as she took the remnants of his drink from him, placing the glass on the small end table beside the couch.

Severus sent her an arch look as his fingers ghosted over the soft tender skin of her inner thigh, drawing a soft moan from her lips.

“I have come to appreciate you in ways I had not considered possible prior to this summer,” Severus replied as his fingers began to caress her through the damp cotton of her underpants. Rosalie sighed as her eyes drifted closed, taking his answer to mean ‘yes’ in Severus-speak as her hips thrust up into his hand restlessly. Deft fingers pushed the sodden material of her underpants to one side, her slick arousal smearing across the back of his hand as his fingers slid underneath the material and in through her wetness.

“Severus...” she gasped as he sunk two fingers into her depths, “Oh...Will you think about this while you’re gone? Will you think about touching me like this at night?”

Rosalie couldn’t keep the moan out of her voice as she tilted her hips up into his hand, as his fingers began to pulse in and out of her slick channel. She clasped his shoulder in a white-knuckled grip as she let herself succumb to the pleasure he was inflicting on her.

“Barely a day goes by now where you are not on my mind,” Severus told her heatedly, his voice rough with need as he pushed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, pulling the front half of her dress down to expose her breasts to the cool night air. The heat of his mouth was like a furnace against her skin, his lips closing over the tender skin of her nipple.

“Oh!” Rosalie gasped, her fingers knotting in his hair, “Severus!”

“Your scent...” he moaned hungrily, his fingers still pumping in and out of her grasping, needy quim, “your taste, the heat of your cunt wrapped around me—it’s all branded into my very being.”

“Severus...” Rosalie panted breathlessly at his words and the feel of his fingers thrusting deep inside of her, his thumb keeping a steady pressure bearing down over her clit. Restless need had her bucking up into his hand as dizzying lust fogged her brain and blurred her vision.

“You’re intoxicating,” Severus growled. His teeth tugged on her nipple gently before he suckled her breast into his mouth, her whole areola disappearing past his lips.

“Please!” Rosalie gasped, “Please...”

She was close to orgasm, her whole body ringing with the feel of her impending release. Arousal was soaking her core, smearing across her thighs and the wet sounds of Severus’ hand pleasuring her beneath her skirt only made her hotter. Needier.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped, her fingers tightening convulsively in his hair as she writhed in his lap, his mouth still suckling at her breast.

“I want you to,” Severus told her matter-of-factly, pressing the words into her skin. 

As if on command, Rosalie cried out as her orgasm thundered over her, her body tensing as she clamped down around his fingers, hips bucking un-rhythmically as pleasure shook her to her core.

“Fuck,” she sobbed, her eyes watering as he frigged his fingers in and out of her furiously, drawing out her release as long as physically possible as he worked her needy flesh through its undoing. 

Rosalie gasped in a huge breath as she sagged in his arm, her whole body going limp, completely and utterly sated. She whimpered as he withdrew his fingers from her overly sensitized body. His hand was sodden with her release, yet she couldn’t dredge up the will to be embarrassed by it. Instead she watched as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, his eyes fixed on hers heatedly.

“Exquisite.” 

She didn’t know whether he was referring to her or the taste of her release, but a powerful wave of possessiveness tore through her and she pulled his mouth into hers, kissing him with fierce longing.

This man. 

_This_ man.

“This is what I’ll think about while I’m touching myself at night,” Rosalie whispered as they parted, not sure where this sudden boldness was coming from but content to go with it while it lasted. 

Slipping from his lap she settled onto her knees in the vee between his parted legs. This time, no house elf would be around to interrupt them, she thought as she freed Severus’ cock from within his trousers carefully. He looked painfully erect; the flesh flushed a dark red with desperate need.

“Rose,” Severus hissed as she took him into her mouth, his mind’s eye going rampant with visions of Rosalie touching herself feverishly beneath the covers of her doona, fingers buried deep in her own heat as she dreamt of him. It was a stimulating thought, not quite as stimulating as her mouth tightening around his shaft, though, her head bobbing up and down his length with enthusiasm. This wouldn’t take long, he thought, his body already coiled tight with need.

Severus groaned as she sucked powerfully on his cock, her hands dropping down to fondle soft skin of his scrotum and stroke the remaining length that she couldn’t fit into her mouth. His hips bucked up into her face involuntarily, “Sorry.”

Rosalie’s dark lashes fluttered open to stare up at him, her Avada Kedavra-green eyes holding him captivated as she withdrew enough to let her hands take over the pumping of his shaft as she suckled on the head of his cock.

“I’m almost there,” Severus groaned as he threaded his fingers through the soft strands of her hair. The pressure was building in his balls, flooding up through his body achingly as he climbed higher and higher.

He groaned loudly, body spasming as the first thick rope of his release filled her mouth. Rosalie startled and pulled back, moving to one side as she continued to pump him, letting his release decorate the floor in pearlescent strands. 

Severus sighed deeply and let his head fall back against the couch.

Rosalie smirked as she climbed up off the floor, moving the straddle his lap.

Severus peered at her through heavy-lidded eyes, his arms wrapping about her waist as she settled against his chest. Warmth was suffusing every neglected, tired molecule of his body and he felt loose with contentment.

“We should take this upstairs,” Rosalie whispered, her lips pressed against the side of his neck. Aware of how brazen they’d been to even contemplate being so intimate so openly.

Severus smirked tiredly, “You’ll be the death of me.”

Rosalie grinned, “Never.”

*

Rosalie sighed as she relaxed back onto the picnic rug they’d pulled out into the backyard, letting the heat of the sun warm her through. This would probably be one of their last warm days of summer and with little else planned for the day Rosalie was determined to make the most of it. It had already been an unusually warm season, but with September bearing down on them the weather would start to cool rapidly as winter drew nearer and days like these, bright, warm and clear, would soon be behind them. Rosalie was already dreading the long winter months she would have to spend locked away here at Grimmauld Place, summer hadn’t been nearly so depressing.

“Ron’s not coming, is he?”

Hermione shook her head solemnly, adjusting the straps on her dress so that she would tan evenly, “he just needs time, Rose.”

“He wasn’t nearly this upset over Lavender—he actually _dated_ her,” Rosalie huffed.

Hermione chuckled, “I’m not actually sure you can call what Ron and Lavender had ‘dating’. Mostly they just snogged. A lot.”

Rosalie grimaced, “Don’t remind me.”

“I think he really thought he’d have a chance with you,” Hermione offered, rolling onto her stomach so she could look down at her best friends face, “He’s pretty torn up over it. Mrs. Weasley is even at a loss with him.”

“ _He told his mum_?” Rosalie gasped, her face flaming with embarrassment.

“No, but I think she’s put two and two together. She has raised _five_ other boys before him. I’m sure she has a better idea of what Ron’s going through than Ron does.”

Rosalie groaned and covered her face with her hands, “this is humiliating. She’s going to hate me for rejecting him.”

Hermione scoffed, “don’t be ridiculous. Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t do anything of the sort. She might like the idea of you dating Ron, but she probably knows that he isn’t well suited to you—everyone can see that.”

Rosalie gave her friend a look, “Everyone _but_ Ron—and what do you mean ‘everyone can see that’?”

Hermione shrugged, “You need someone who is strong enough to let you lean on them; someone who can look past all the fame and the nonsense and not buckle under the pressures of having their life thrown into the spotlight. You need someone who sees ‘Rose’ and not the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’, because even though she’s amazing, that’s not you.”

Rosalie felt like she might explode with emotion, she was so incredibly touched that there was someone in this world who understood her so well, “and that’s not Ron.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, “As much as Ron loves you—and I really think he does—he still gets caught up in the hype from time to time. You have everything in life that he’s always dreamed of, and... I don’t think he really gets it.”

“He kissed me,” Rosalie admitted quietly, throwing her arm over her eyes to both block out the sun and to avoid having to look her best friend in the eye.

“He _what_!?” Hermione gasped, leaning in intensely and pulling the arm from her face, “When? Wait, that was a stupid question—it was the other night, right? How...how was it?”

Rosalie grimaced, “Awkward. Sweaty.”

Hermione made a face, “Better than Cedric? Or Neville?”

Rosalie shook her head, “It wasn’t like that. You can’t compare them—I wanted to kiss Nev and Cedric. Ron just kind of launched himself at me. I think he was trying to convince me to give him a chance...”

The memory of it made her cringe internally. It wouldn’t be fair to judge Ron on the ability of that kiss; Lavender would have ditched him way sooner if that was as good as it got. No one wanted clammy hands pawing at their face as wet eager lips mashed against theirs. Gross. It wasn’t Ron’s finest hour, she was sure and so she wouldn’t do him the disservice of dissecting it like Hermione and her had gossiped about others in the past.

“I’ve always king of wondered what it would be like, though,” Hermione admitted with a pink flush to her cheeks, “in fourth year—before Viktor—I thought for a while that I might fancy him. Then, of course, Viktor asked me to the ball.”

Rosalie smiled, “and little Her-my-oh-ninny was never the same again.”

Hermione’s flush grew deeper, “Well, he was just so different, wasn’t he? Intense. It was hard not to get swept up in that intensity with him. The boys at Hogwarts were all so immature.”

“Do you keep in contact with him?” Rosalie asked.

Hermione nodded, “Not as much recently with everything that’s been going on, but we still write one another.”

“Do you think you and he might ever get back together someday? Properly, I mean?” Rosalie inquired lightly as she too rolled onto her stomach so she was pressed shoulder to shoulder with her friend.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t think so. But, who knows? Stranger things happen everyday.”

‘Like Severus and I getting together,’ Rosalie pondered, wondering how Hermione would react to such news. She ripped absently at the long grass as she imagined _that_ conversation. Hermione was perhaps the one person she could imagine taking the news in her stride. She imagined her friend would have some concerns over the fact that Severus was once their teacher, especially because she knew Hermione intended to go back to school just as soon as this war was over, but out of everyone, Hermione seemed to understand her friendship with Severus—or at least accept it without question. A part of her desperately wanted to tell her friend everything. So many huge and exciting emotions were rioting inside her at the prospect of being able to share her happiness with someone—someone she considered family. The risk though was too great. Hermione had a track record of putting what she believed was ‘right’ before everything else. What if she didn’t agree with the idea of Severus and her being together and went to Dumbledore? Severus seemed to strongly believe the Headmaster would take the news of them seeing one another badly. Rosalie wasn’t convinced either way, but assuming the worst, how would Dumbledore reach to such news? What if he forced them apart? What if Severus was persecuted over this? She couldn’t risk losing him when they were doing _nothing wrong_. Nothing that had happened between them was illegal, but there would be those who believed they had a say in her life, and they would be angry—Ron, the Weasley’s, Remus...

“I just hope this mess with Ron blows over soon,” Rosalie said on a sigh, “you guys will be coming to stay soon and we’ll need to be able to work together.”

“Just treat him the same as always,” Hermione counselled, “He’s feeling humiliated right now, but when he realises that nothing has changed between you because of it, he’ll move on.”

Rosalie nodded decisively, “You’re right.”

“You should be flattered to have so many men interest in you,” Hermione continued after a beat, her voice cautiously curious, “not that I’m surprised. You’re gorgeous.”

Rosalie frowned. 

“What do you mean ‘so many men’?” she parroted.

“You know,” Hermione hedged, “Ron...Snape...” she sing-songed, her eyes cutting sideways to analyse Rosalie’s response.

“Snape?” Rosalie gasped feeling like she’d suddenly been doused in ice water as she stared at her best friend in shock. She couldn’t know. Surely not.

Hermione nodded with a role of her eyes, “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed—he’s changed so much over the last few months, it’s obvious! He’s a different person when he’s around you, Rose. Just look at the way he defended you the other night when Ginny spilled the beans about Ron and Ron made to go after you. I mean, just the fact that he even got involved is huge! You can see it in his eyes.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly, her heart knocking painfully against her chest 

“See what?” she whispered.

“That he cares for you,” Hermione told her seriously, “I’ve never seen him more _human_ than when he’s around you. You’ve changed him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—it doesn’t mean that he’s _interested_ in me,” She replied, going for dismissive and hitting awkward and embarrassed instead. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

Hermione shrugged, clearly disagreeing but not forcing the issue, “I guess not, it’s just a feeling that I have. He watches you so intensely sometimes.”

Ron had said the same thing to her at Bill’s wedding, “He’s my bodyguard; it’s his job—”

“—one he takes very seriously,” Hermione finished, talking over her protestations,” that night you returned from the cave and we thought...that you might die? I’ve never seen him so angry. He was furious at Dumbledore for risking your life. He was terrified it was already too late. He didn’t guard his face very well that night. If you’d seen it, maybe you’d agree with me.”

Rosalie was speechless. She’d known, of course, how angry he’d been. He’d still be furious days later when he’d found her in the kitchen and they’d vented all their hurt, fear and frustrations out on one another in his lab. Why hadn’t Hermione said anything before now, though, if she’d known?

“He didn’t leave Grimmauld Place the whole time you were in the infirmary,” Hermione continued, “He was in the foulest of moods the entire time and we avoided him like crazy. Things didn’t change until you woke up again and then things just...went back to normal. That was when I started to realise that he cared for you. I mean, we’re your best friends and Molly, Arthur and Remus are like family to you and I think he might have been more distraught than all of us put together.”

Rosalie’s didn’t know how to respond to that. Nothing she said would change her friend’s mind at this point and Rosalie didn’t blame her—the evidence seemed rather compelling.

“Does Ron know?”

“I think he’s picked up on it subconsciously, but no, I don’t think he actually knows,” Hermione told her, “You like him too, don’t you.”

“Would you be angry if I said yes?” Rosalie whispered.

Hermione bumped shoulders with her, “I’m not really all that surprised, to be honest. I think you and Snape understand one another on a level Ron and I never will. I can see how it would be appealing, to have someone who understands you so completely.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d understand,” Rosalie admitted with a small smile, looking up into her best friends big brown eyes.

“I didn’t at first,” Hermione confessed, “When I realised what I was seeing from Snape I was shocked and angry. My first thought was that it was wrong and that he’d been lusting after you inappropriately—I didn’t know what to do about it though, since it was only my observation and as far as I knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Then I noticed that your behaviour had changed too and I didn’t get what you saw in him. It was actually Ron that made me realise what you must see in him. Ron is still enamoured by the idea of the Girl-Who-Lives, he loves the idea of adventure and fame, but Snape never subscribed to all that hype. To him you have always been just Rosalie Potter, even when he hated you. He gets you.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I’m not saying I don’t think you could do better, Rose, but I get why you’re attracted to him,” Hermione finished.

“You don’t care that he was our teacher?” Rosalie hedged.

Hermione shrugged, “The magical world has different rules to the muggle world for a reason—teacher/student relationships are not forbidden. Plus, he’s not technically your teacher anymore. I have more issue with the fact that he’s twenty years older that you—but even that is a muggle thing. Molly and Arthur have twelve years between them! Age is less important in wizarding terms.”

Rosalie sighed, “Somehow, I don’t think anyone else would be so understanding.”

“You might be surprised,” Hermione pointed out, “There actually isn’t anything illegal to stop you two from being together if that’s what you really wanted. At least not now that you are legally considered an adult.”

Rosalie blushed, “I doubt that will matter to most people. The fact that I dared to stray from their perfect ideal will be the real issue.”

“That and, well...Snape’s just isn’t all that nice, is he?” Hermione offered.

“He may not be the perfect pin-up hero of the Light I’m expected to get together with, but who is? Snape is a good man, he’s done and sacrificed more for our cause than anyone else,” Rosalie defended heatedly.

Hermione nodded awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Rosalie apologised, “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t know, but I have had a lot more to work with than most people, I guess.”

Rosalie nodded, her fingers compulsively tearing up blades of grass and letting the drift to the ground like confetti. She hadn’t counted on someone figuring it all out, but she should have known Hermione would guess, she was too smart for her own good. She considered briefly telling Hermione the whole truth, but something held her back. Knowing she had a thing for Snape was one thing, knowing that they’d acted on it was another and she was feeling suddenly reticent about sharing anything further. 

“Please, don’t say anything,” Rosalie asked quietly, her gaze locking on her friend’s imploringly.

“Of course not,” Hermione assured her, “It’s no one’s business but your own.”

*

It was with mixed emotions that Rosalie greeted her friends as they arrived by floo a handful of days later, toting their trunks behind them. Hermione wrapped her up in a tight hug the minute she’d cleared the floo, a determined smile etched into her face as she drew back. Rosalie returned the smile, genuinely pleased to see her friend.

“Perhaps now we will be able to make some headway in all this mess,” Hermione offered, “condensing out resources will help enormously.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she told her friend sincerely, “—both of you,” she continued, glancing over Hermione’s shoulder into Ron’s unblinking blue eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him properly since he’d confessed his love to her and the expression on his face was like a fist to the stomach, forcing the air from her lungs and making her feel vaguely nauseated. 

“Hi,” he offered, his tone somewhat subdued.

Rosalie smiled back at him, the brittle expression stretching tightly across her face before flaking out of existence all together. 

Was she supposed to just ignore the kicked puppy-dog looks that he was shooting her, his wide eyes forlorn and gazing at her so damned _earnestly_? This was not the reaction she'd anticipated having to deal with. She’d expected his anger. She’d expected for him to snub her and make her life difficult by refusing to talk to her in an attempt to save face. Ron was usually so quick to anger—it was his default emotional setting ninety percent of the time—she didn’t feel prepared to deal with this new side of him. 

‘He’s genuinely hurt; and he wants to make sure I know it,’ she though uncomfortably, guilt twisting poisonously in her stomach. Guilt and a touch of anger. He’d have made a bigger impression on her—a better impression—if he’d sucked it up and treated her like nothing had changed. She didn’t want this to ruin friendship, but it felt like he was trying to guilt her into changing her mind and the idea that he might try to manipulate her like that filled her with resentment.

Rosalie felt instantly guilty for thinking Ron capable of such a thing.

“Shall we take our things up?” Hermione asked brightly, cutting through the awkward silence that had settled between them.

“Sure,” Rosalie replied, turning from the heavy weight of Ron’s eyes as she lead them from the kitchen.

“Mum said she’d floo through with dinner,” Ron offered sullenly as they made their way up the stairs, “She’s out of sorts about us coming to stay here and she doesn’t trust Kreacher not to try and poison us.”

“We had to talk her out of moving in with us,” Hermione added, her tone clearly exasperated and Rosalie wondered how long and hard _that_ battle had been, “This was the only way we could get her to agree.”

“She wants to know if Moony is staying with us so she knows how many to cook for,” Ron asked.

Rosalie nodded, “He’s here.”

They trudged up the second flight of stairs together, trunks clattering along behind them as they passed the row of mounted house elf heads without blinking an eye.

“Which room are we sharing, Rose?” Hermione asked as they cleared the landing.

“Actually, there are enough rooms for us each to have our own. This one here is yours, ‘Mione. I thought, given my sleeping habits, it might be nicer for you if you were in your own room,” Rosalie replied gesturing the door that they were standing in front of.

Hermione frowned, “You’re still not sleeping?” ‘

“On and off. Some nights are better than others,” Rosalie shrugged. 

“Where am I?” Ron asked.

“You’ve got your usual room,” Rosalie replied, “Remus’ room is this one at the top of the stairs. I’m across from him and Snape’s room is down the far end of the hall. He won’t be around much anymore since Hogwarts is back for the year, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him too much.”

Ron grimaced, “Good.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hermione said as she pushed open the door to her room, “normally this time of year we’d be getting ready to return to Hogwarts for another year—out final year! It’s odd to think that we won’t be going back.”

Rosalie nodded, “I know, I keep thinking about what’s ahead of us—it all seems so big. Impossible, almost. When I think about everything we’ve already been through, though—it’s a wonder we passed any of our classes as it is.”

“We did alright,” Ron offered flopping listlessly back onto Hermione’s bed. The mattress groaned nosily under his weight, “Needs a silencing charm, this does.”

“I think I’ll go back,” Hermione said, “once this is all behind us, I want to graduate properly and sit my NEWTs.” 

“Urgh!” Ron moaned, “I don’t even want to think about school work again until I have to!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Well, you’ll have to go back if you want to become an Auror,” She pointed out tartly, swiping his booted feet off the end of her bed, “What about you, Rose?”

Rosalie was silent as she contemplated Hermione’s question, “I guess I haven’t really let myself consider the future too closely. Everything seems so....uncertain.”

“But if we can...?” Ron prompted, “What then?”

Rosalie shrugged, avoiding their gazes, “I’m not sure. Perhaps just in the subjects that I need? I’m not sure I _could_ just go back to being a student after everything.”

Hermione nodded, “I know what you mean, but then I remember that being a student is what I am _meant_ to be doing. Being a student is _normal_ —not this. I don’t want to let this change who I am underneath it all.”

“How can it not?” Rosalie asked, “I already feel it changing me and not only in bad ways.”

“Good experience for becoming an Auror this is,” Ron chimed in, completely missing her point—or maybe purposefully changing the subject, “Perhaps we won’t need out NEWTs if we spend the next year hunting down bad guys. That’s the job description, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to be an Auror anymore,” Rosalie said quietly.

“What?” Ron asked, sitting up in shock as he stared at her agape, “What are you talking about? You and me—we’ve _always_ wanted to become Aurors. How could you suddenly not?”

Rosalie swallowed thickly at the thunderstruck look on his face. She had the distinct impression she’d just shaken his foundations to the core for the second time in a week and he looked like anything more might break him completely. Bit by bit she was tearing down the image of her he held on a pedestal inside his mind. Did Ron ever really know her? Did he ever even see _her_ —Rosalie?

“All of this?” Rosalie said, waving her hands in the air as if to gesture at their currently situation in general, “It’s made me realise that I don’t want to spend my life chasing down evil wizards. When this is over, I want to be able to put it all behind me and move on.”

“but—”

“What do you want to do instead?” Hermione asked.

“I think...,” Rosalie started; suddenly shy about announcing her intentions, “I think I want to become a Healer.”

Hermione smiled, “I think you’d be a fantastic Healer.”

“But, don’t you need a NEWT in Potions to become a Healer?” Ron prompted his face still aghast.

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, but I did okay in Potion’s last year with Slughorn. I think I could do it if I really worked for it.”

“Of course you can,” Hermione smiled, “I’m sure Snape would mentor you in Potions as well if you asked him.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not sure what I want to do; there is so much to choose from!” Hermione said, “Maybe something in the research field, or in politics?”

“Yeah, well, we have a war to win first,” Ron cut in, flopping back onto the bed, once more, “and four more Horcruxes to figure out, find and destroy.”

Hermione nodded with a frown, “I think we need to focus our research on the remaining Hogwarts heirlooms, namely the Hufflepuff Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem. Gryffindor’s sword is out for obvious reasons. Regulus Black clearly seemed to have his suspicious regarding Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, though—he may have been given cause to suspect them. Since we don’t know where we got his information I think we should exhaust the possibility that he is correct before we look elsewhere.”

Rosalie worried her lip, “that still leaves two unaccounted for.”

“But it’s a start.”

Silence settled over them thickly as they each descended into thought. Ron was scowling fiercely at the ceiling, his body language tense and unhappy and she wondered if he was thinking about Voldemort’s horcruxes or her.

Rosalie sighed.

“I’m going to go unpack,” Ron stated abruptly, climbing to his feet and exiting the room without a backwards glance.

Rosalie turned and watched him leave helplessly.

“Just ignore him,” Hermione offered, “He just needs to calm down. Give him a few days to settle in.”

Rosalie nodded unhappily, feeling tense with stress. This was not how she’d hoped things would start out between them now that they were all living together for the foreseeable future. How had things changed so much? Even before this debacle with Ron confessing his love she felt like she’d hardly been able to have a conversation with him without things inevitably devolving into an argument—usually over Snape. How could one deepening relationship throw so much of her life into a tailspin? Ron, Remus—could she have changed _that much_ that she no longer fit into the relationships of her old life? Did the blame for the breakdown in these relationships lie at squarely at her feet as the only common factor between the two? She’d never felt more disconnected from people she considered family and it hurt to think that that connection might be lost. She didn’t know how to fix things between them though, not without telling them the truth about her relationship with Snape and she wasn’t sure she was ready to make that leap of faith. 

Rosalie offered her friend a tight smile, “Thanks, ‘Mione. I’ll let you get settled in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I ended up needing a couple of days to settle back into life after my holidays :) Hope you’re all still with me!
> 
> ~Quill


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

 

 

**Chapter Twenty One**

 

 

The days started cooling rapidly as September bore down on them with all the finesse of a charging bull, chasing away the last days of an unusually warm summer as the sky turned increasingly grey. Rosalie felt her mood darken with the sky as days turned into weeks and suddenly it was mid-September. Two weeks without news from either Dumbledore or Severus. Two weeks of tediously combing through reference after reference on the Hufflepuff Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem and coming up blank. Two weeks of constantly walking on eggshells around Ron. Two weeks of Mrs. Weasley ‘popping’ in three times a day to check on them and make sure ‘they’d eaten’ (which was really just code for making sure they were still alive).

Rosalie felt like she was going to go crazy. Time felt like it was slipping through her fingers every moment they didn’t spend hunting down and destroying Voldemort’s Horcruxes, yet they were at a dead end. Even Hermione’s determination was beginning to wane as they failed to generate any new information to support their theories. They spent less and less time ‘researching’ every day and Rosalie was beginning to feel a clawing sense of desperation deep within.

Everyday Mrs. Weasley brought snippets of news along with her: attacks on muggles and muggle-born homes were increasing; less and less people were turning up for work each day; the _Prophet_ had begun a weekly ‘Missing Persons’ register; The Minister of Magic had finally declared the Wizarding World at war against the You-Know-Who and his supporters; Hogwarts enrolment numbers were at an all time low and yet, two weeks in, student hostility and inter-house rivalry had never been worse. The world had begun to spiral around them and Rosalie felt like they were bobbing around in limbo, bored and waiting for something to happen that would force them to action. The war was at once worlds away from them and breathing down the back of their necks and they were trapped at Grimmauld Place with nothing to focus their attention on. Most days Rosalie spent hiding from Ron and his labile mood swings. She didn’t know how many different ways she could explain to him that it wasn’t that she didn’t like him, she just wasn’t attracted to him. Each and every time he cornered her he took her refusal like a knife to the heart and stormed off from her in a red-faced and emotional. She wished he would just let it go and stop punishing them both with it at every opportunity. His injured eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went, unable to decide on how he should be approaching the situation to achieve the desired outcome and so chopping and changing as the mood struck. Severus’ lab was the only place he wouldn’t come looking for her and Rosalie had taken to secreting herself away in there to avoid having another one of _those_ conversations with him every time Hermione left the room.

She’d transfigured a small sofa into the corner of the room and at first it had seemed like the perfect solution, but as the days passed by with no word, thinking about Severus—whilst she was sitting in his lab surrounded by his things—seemed unavoidable. Was he really so busy that he couldn’t even write to her? Or had physical distance made old doubts manifest once more? Was he using Hogwarts as an excuse to avoid her?

Rosalie sighed, her thoughts once more coming a full circle as she looked down at the letter she’d penned over an hour ago and had yet to send. It was more of a note really.

 

 

> _I heard things have been unsettled since your return. I hope it begins to improve soon. Life here has been quite as always._   
> _I didn’t know whether or not it was okay to write. I hope this is okay._   
> _I miss you._

 

Rosalie looked it over with a critical eye. She’d tried to be appropriately vague, but she worried she sounded too abrupt. She’d written it six times though and it always ended up sounding the same: ‘I get that you’re busy. I’m sorry. Things here are fine. I miss you’.

Still, she was anxious about sending it. Or rather, she was worried about how it would be received, both for the content (‘I miss you’) and for the fact that they hadn’t discussed communicating via letters before he’d left. Neither of them had expected they would be apart this long she supposed, but in hindsight it seemed stupid not to have thought of such a thing.

It had taken her three days to build up the courage to put pen to paper and although she wanted to write to Severus and tell him that Ron was driving her crazy, that she felt like she’d go mad if she had to spend even another _week_ at Grimmauld Place and that Mrs. Weasley’s presence was nearly so constant that it was stifling, she kept it simple.

Rosalie skimmed through the letter once more wondering if the unasked ‘Do you still want me?’ was obvious. The last thing she wanted to come across as was desperate, but Severus had shaken her trust in him once already and she kept half expecting the other shoe to drop and for Severus to change his mind. Rosalie had assumed their relationship was more than just physical on some deeper level, but they’d been so wrapped up in the elation of the physical aspect of their relationship they hadn’t taken the time to talk about things.

Folding up the letter Rosalie sealed it with a small blob of wax, watching slowly as it began to cool and harden the minute it hit the paper. The thought of sending it set loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies inside of her.

“Kreacher!”

The decrepit elf appeared before her, bowing so low his head almost touched the floor, “Mistress calls?”

Rosalie held out the letter to the elf, “Kreacher, I need you to deliver this letter to Hogwarts for me. It is very important that no one other than Professor Snape finds out about it, though. I need you to deliver it to him while he is alone. Can you do that for me?”

Kreacher inclined his head accepting the letter, “Kreacher be delivering you your letter to the Professor.”

Rosalie nodded, “Good.”

The elf disapparated abruptly with the letter in tow and Rosalie felt a wave of nervous energy pass over her in a nauseating prickle. It was done. Hopefully Severus would have her letter before nightfall.

 

 

 

*

 

 

It was past midnight by the time Severus made it back to his quarters. The latest incident, in a string of incidents that had occurred since Hogwarts had reopened for the school year, had involved a Slytherin girl’s arm almost being entirely amputated by an overzealous severing charm intended to remove the left sleeve of her school robes. The Gryffindor boy at fault had been attempting to expose her as a Death Eater and had instead ended up with a three week suspension and detention with Minerva until the end of the year upon his return. Severus had spent the last three hours shut away in Headmaster’s office with Albus and the girl’s parents discussing the matter and trying to dissuade them from pulling their daughter out of the school.

Children were beasts.

A headache had settled in, beating out a steady tattoo behind his eyes as he sunk down into his favourite armchair and summoned tumbler and a bottle of Ogden’s.

“Go away.” Severus ordered as he heard the soft _crack!_ of a house elf apparating into the room.

“Kreacher be delivering a letter to the Professor from his Mistress,” the elf insisted.

“A letter?” Severus glanced sharply at the elf, “Well then?”

Kreacher nodded, handing over the folded parchment.

Severus took the proffered letter, dismissing the decrepit elf back to Grimmauld Place even as he cracked the wax seal. Quick eyes darted over the contents—a handful of words in Rosalie’s messy scrawl—and remarkably Severus felt something inside of him come loose.

‘ _I miss you._ ’

He was shocked to realise that the sentiment was returned. He had thought he pull would lessen with distance between them, but his desire to see her was as intense as it had been the morning that he left her, wrapped in his sheets at Grimmauld Place.

Severus smoothed his thumb across the parchment, rereading the words. When had he last had someone in his life who could genuinely say they missed him when he wasn’t around? His mother perhaps? Albus? It was a foreign feeling to realise that he was important to someone else’s wellbeing and peace of mind. He didn’t know how to respond, or if he even should. They’d not discussed keeping a correspondence once he’d returned to Hogwarts. There were inherent risks in putting _anything_ down on paper at a time like this and to do so was to put themselves at unnecessary risk. Yet, in typical fashion, Rosalie had managed to sidestep most of danger involved by forgoing the use of owls in exchange for houselves—magically bound and unable to disobey a direct order from their master.

Once upon at time he would have called her cunning arrogance.

Placing the letter aside, Severus summoned a parchment and quill.

 

 

> _I feel I owe you an apology for my absence the last fortnight. It was not my intention on returning here that we would remain out of contact for as long as we have. As your letter suggested, the transition on returning this year has been significantly more trying than usual. Children are beasts to one another. They are acting out in fear and it has taken all our attention to keep them from causing serious damage to one another. There have been several near misses already—one that has taken most of my evening to resolve. It makes me long for the relative simplicity of a summer spent straddling the barbed line of morality._
> 
> _I hope to be able to return soon._

 

The words flowed with surprising ease and Severus nodded in satisfaction as he reread its contents. Rosalie would be disappointed if she were expecting effusive words of love in return, but he felt confident that she knew him better than to expect something so out of character from him.

He sealed the letter shut with a flick of his wand as it occurred to him, somehow, after years of solitude interspersed with brief flings and one night stands, that he’d found himself in relationship.

Severus snorted in self-depreciating amusement. He had no idea how to _be_ in a relationship, but he couldn’t pretend he was invested in its outcome. He only hoped he was enough. He wasn’t a nice man, or a particularly good one by his standards, but Rosalie shared a connection with him that he hadn’t felt since he’d been friends with her mother and he’d stopped worrying about what _that_ said of him as a person. There could be no confusion or overlap between the two women, as different as night and day, but as equally kind and caring as they were fierce and powerful.

“Dobby!”

“Professor Snape, Sir!” Dobby cried as he appeared before him.

“Take this to Rosalie. Make sure she receives it whilst she is alone. No one but Rosalie must know of the letter,” Severus instructed handing the elf his letter, “Do you understand?”

Dobby nodded his head vigorously, “Dobby be understanding you perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Go then.”

 

 

*

 

Rosalie barely had time to prepare herself for Albus’ arrival from the time she received his note to the time the Headmaster stepped out of the floo and ushered her into the lounge at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione were already abed for the evening when she’d received the Headmaster’s note, informing her to dress warmly in preparation to leave the wards. After weeks of waiting, they were finally to destroy the locket.

Throwing on her warmest clothes, Rosalie had dashed down the stairs to await his arrival, shocked when he’d arrived just moments later in a flurry of heat and ash as he stepped from the floo and swept her into a brief hug.

“How have you been keeping, my dear?” Albus asked as Rosalie hugged him back offering him a slight smile.

“Things are okay,” Rosalie shrugged, “Even Hermione is finding it difficult to fill in the time with anything constructive, though. Not that I’m complaining, sir, I understand the importance of my own safety but I feel like we might all go crazy some days.”

Albus nodded sagely, motioning for her to take the seat across from him on the lounge as they entered the room, “I understand that this is difficult for you and I thank you for your patience and understanding. All is not lost, however, as I have something that you might direct your attentions towards over the coming days to help break up the monotony.”

“Oh?” Rosalie asked, lifting her eyebrows enquiringly as she accepted the cup of tea passed to her.

Albus nodded, stirring two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his own tea, “As you know, our research has led us to believe that Voldemort has hidden each of his Horcruxes in a location of some significance to him.”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes.”

“I have come to believe he may have hidden one of his horcruxes in the house belonging to his muggle relatives in Little Hangleton. Not only is it the site of three significant deaths for him, as he murdered his three remaining muggle relatives inside the house, but it was also his chosen place of rebirth. The symmetry, perhaps, appealed to him at the time; I believe the house represents both the past and the future to him,” Albus explained.

Rosalie absorbed this information quietly, her mind recalling the events of the Graveyard unbidden. Certainly significant—so significant, in fact, that she couldn’t believe one of them hadn’t thought of it sooner, it seemed so obvious.

“Which horcrux do you believe he’s hidden there?” She asked, gazing up into his curious blue eyes as she sipped absently at her tea.

“It is my belief that we will find the Hufflepuff cup there.”

Rosalie nodded once, “So, how do we get it?”

“Preliminary investigations suggest that Voldemort abandoned the house following his rebirth and it appears to have remained dormant since that time. If I am correct in believing this to be one of our locations, I would expect there to be powerful enchantments still protecting the building—a sure sign that something of worth is still being housed within,” Albus declared, eyes alight with the prospect of discovery. Rosalie felt her face forming a smile in return, “If nothing else it is cause for further investigations if only to rule it out.”

“Will you send someone to investigate the wards?” Rosalie asked.

“I will visit the property myself,” Albus nodded, “If my findings lead me to believe there is something within we shall return with a team of people.”

Rosalie nodded in understanding, “Good.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Albus chuckled, this eyes twinkling with mischief.

Rosalie flushed.

“Now, once you have finished you tea, I believe it is time we dealt with Slytherin’s Locket once and for all,” Albus said as he pulled himself to his feet, “We will need to leave the wards for a time, my dear, in case the excess outflow of magic interrupts their power. We cannot risk exposing this location, even for a second.”

Rosalie quickly drained the last dregs of her tea and stood. A slight tremor ran through her fingers as she swiped her suddenly sweaty palms against the rough denim of her jeans.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she took his outstretched hand.

“Stonehenge.”

They apparated directly into the world heritage site and Rosalie gaped at the giant bluestone slabs surrounding them like silent sentinels of strength. She could feel the power radiating off of them, surrounding them with their energy. Perhaps this was why muggles visited by the hundreds—thousands—each year. Surely they too must be able to sense its power? An intense and timeless force that had stood against the test of time, it radiated strength too strong and too pure to go unnoticed. It was awe inspiring.

“Muggles have only theories as to what Stonehenge once was—a burial ground? An astrological calendar? An ancient ceremonial site?” Albus told her as he reached out to lay his hand flat on the surface of the nearest stone, “the truth is that it has always been a magical site of great power, built by wizards to sit directly over the ley lines that run through this region. It was built as a place of ritual and worship; in recent times, however, it is rarely used as our ancestors intended it to be, as many of the Old Rites have fallen out of practice.”

“Why here?” Rosalie asked curiously, “It seems wrong to defile such a place with Voldemort’s evil.”

Albus shook his head, “Stonehenge does not discriminate against magic as we do. Power is power. It all comes from nature. The nature of these stones is that they absorb the magic of the earth and that which surrounds them. By coming here, I hope to contain the potential outburst of magic by allowing it to be absorbed into the stones that surround us.”

“Like some kind of magical dampener?” she marvelled.

“Of a sort,” Albus agreed, “Come.”

Rosalie followed the Headmaster into the centre of the stone circles where the pulse of magic humming around them felt the strongest. She could feel it in the Earth beneath her feet, vibrating up through her legs and spine and out through her peripheries. She could feel it in the air around her, caressing her skin like the crisp dew of a spring morning. It was electric. It was energising. She breathed in deeply, letting it settle into her lungs and filter through her body until she could feel it humming in every cell of her being.

Albus pulled the locket out from deep within his robes and lay it out on the soft grass between them. It trembled ominously, flipping to and fro, backwards and forwards, face up and then facedown under the pull of magic surrounding them.

“It will fight its destruction,” Albus told her as he summoned Gryffindor’s Sword, the bright metal gleaming in the light of the moon as the hum of steel rang out through the night. Rosalie felt something in her cringe back from the weapon as it swept between them innocuously and she shivered at the twinge of fear that momentarily gripped her.

She shivered, shaking the feeling off, passing off her reaction as anxiety over what was about to occur. The only other horcrux that she’d witnessed the destruction to had been Tom Riddle’s diary. Would the locket manifest a version of Tom Riddle as his diary had all those years ago? She wasn’t sure she was ready for such an eventuality.

“Will we see him? Can the soul manifest?” Rosalie asked nervously, stress turning her voice thin and brittle even to her own ears.

“Whatever face it may present us, know that it is a lie,” Albus replied, but it did little to ease her apprehension.

Rosalie recalled the boy she had met in the Chamber of Secrets, how he had tried to convince her that they were one and the same, driven by the same tragedies and experiences. The fear that she would or could morph into something so grotesque had haunted her for weeks after the incident in the Chamber, but she knew now that at their core, where it counted, she was _nothing_ like Tom Riddle. She never would be. She would not let him draw her in again.

“Okay. I’m ready,” She said with a nod, drawing her wand and holding it at the ready.

Rosalie startled as a harsh cry pierced her straight down her spine, making her hair stand on end and fear settle in her heart. She stumbled back a step as Dumbledore swung the sword above his head, the metal whistling through the night with deadly intent as he unleashed the battle cry that had shaken her to her core. Rosalie swallowed thickly, forcing her heart back out of her throat as she took in the fierce look of battled etched into his face. Her heart stuttered into gear again, pounding painfully against her chest.

The locket shook violently as it strained against the suddenly oppressive press of magic around them. The locket screeched as it burst open, black smoke pouring from within, thick and dark, obliterating the night as it leeched outwards menacingly. Rosalie hissed as it wrapped around their ankles, twisting its way up their legs until she couldn’t see past her knees any longer.

“Professor!” She gasped, but it wasn’t Dumbledore who stood before her.

Ron sneered at her, his eyes bitter and cold as the darkness encroached on him, embracing him like a lover.

“Ron?” She called questioningly; dread gripping her, “Ron! What are you doing here! You have to leave!”

His blue eyes cut her to the quick, “Oh, _I_ have to leave, do I?”

“What?” Rosalie gasped in confusion.

“To think I trusted you. Loved you. Do you really think I’d stick around once I found out you’d taken up with _him_? A _Death Eater_? Hermione and I are better off without you.”

“Wha—?”

“—Rosalie get back!” Albus yelled as he brought the sword swinging down, cutting through Ron like he was warm butter.

Severus rose in his place, twisting up out of the ground like an apparition of death.

“Really, Potter,” He scoffed, his sneer twisting his face into a visage of poisonous hate, “You’re just a _child_ —”

The image flickered.

“ _Albus_?”

Severus seemed to sink back into the locket as a young girl with long blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes took his place. Rosalie blinked in confusion. The girl wasn’t here for her though, Rosalie realised as the apparition turned her back on her and stretched out a beseeching hand in the Headmaster’s direction, “Albus, I’ve missed you. I’m so alone here. _Please_ don’t leave me again—”

The sword struck with a brittle clang of steel that Rosalie felt somewhere deep within her own soul. She gasped, her hand pressed against her forehead as pain prickled in her scar and the backlash of Dark energy hit her squarely in the chest, throwing her from her feet as it blasted through her. Rosalie hit the ground with a heavy thud that rattled her teeth and stole the breath from her lungs.

She blinked up into the night, dazed and gasping for air.

The night sky was clear and crisp. She could see every star that shone down on them with bursting clarity. It was beautiful and vast. She’d never felt more insignificant.

The back of her head was throbbing.

“Rosalie? Are you alright?”

Rosalie couldn’t catch her breath to respond.

Albus wheezed as he crawled over to her, his own voice breathless and stunned as he called out to her again.

Rosalie nodded, “that was...not what I expected.”

Albus helped steady her as she sat up and rubbed at the back of her head, “nor I, I must admit.”

Rosalie eyed the locket, blackened and cleaved in two. It felt barren. The magic she’d once felt animating it was gone. It was cold and hollow.

“Is it safe to touch?” she asked as she reached out for it.

“It is harmless now; the soul in it has been destroyed.” Albus informed her as they climbed back to their feet, “you did well.”

Rosalie turned the broken locket over in her hands, “I wasn’t expecting to see Ron. Or Snape. I’m sorry. You told me to be prepared and I thought I was.”

“You did well,” Albus reiterated, “I too did not expect it to take on the faces of our allies and loved ones—his creation of this horcrux and its protections was far more elaborate than I anticipated.”

“Who was the girl? At the end?” Rosalie asked curiously and then immediately realised how invasive such a question was. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks.

Albus sighed and a gentle smile lit his face, “My sister. Her name was Arianna.”

Rosalie nodded feeling the weight of loss in his words even though he was smiling.

“Let’s hope that the rest of them aren’t like this,” Rosalie chuckled as she passed the broken remains of Slytherin’s Locket back to the Headmaster.

“Indeed. Let us return to Grimmauld Place. It is likely you will feel somewhat drained after this encounter—it is entirely normal after being exposed to such a degree of Dark Magic,” Albus told her his hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly as he led them through the ancient stones of Stonehenge.

‘Perhaps I will sleep well for once,’ Rosalie thought to herself as the trudged across the uneven ground. She glanced up at the giant slabs of stone, unchanged in the face of so much Dark magic, but her perception of them—of this place—had been irrevocably changed in no more than a few minutes.

Albus apparated them back into Grimmauld Place without fanfare and Rosalie blinked as they appeared precisely where they had left only a little over an hour before.

“I think I might head off to bed,” Rosalie said quietly, her mind full all that she had seen that night. She bid Dumbledore goodnight and trekked her way back through the house to her bedroom. The light under Hermione’s door was still on but she avoided it, sneaking past as silently as she was able. The inevitable barrage of questions could wait until tomorrow. True to word, she felt deplete of energy; she was physically, emotionally and mentally wrung out from such a brief but intense encounter. More than anything, she wanted to be alone to think on what she’d seen and heard that night—Ron’s anger, Severus’ disdain and her own lack of fortitude in the face of such an obvious ruse. Shame coloured her cheeks.

_‘You’re just a child.’_

Rosalie huffed. Logically she knew Severus couldn’t perceive her as such. If she were nothing more than a child in his eyes, they would never have made it to where they stood today. She couldn’t deny that hearing it hadn’t stung though.

Rosalie slipped into her room and shut the door with a soft snick.

“Are you alright?”

Rosalie spun around in alarm. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, cast in shadows his face was concealed in darkness, but he was the most welcome thing she’d seen all day.

“Severus,” she breathed, crossing the room to his side.

His embrace enveloped her completely, “Are you well? I felt you return through the wards with the Headmaster. He didn’t inform me he intended to destroy the artefact with you tonight.”

“I am fine, just some magical backlash,” she assured him.

Severus nodded, “I owe you an apology, I feel—I did not intend to be absent for such a length of time. There have been more hurdles to overcome at the beginning of the school term than usual...”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s okay. I got your letter. Thank you.”

His lips were warm and familiar against hers as they sunk into once another. She’d missed the feel of him, his taste and smell. She’d missed being held by him, talking to him, duelling with him, even watching him brew...

“You’re staying, right?”

Severus nodded, “I’m here through the weekend.”

Rosalie yawned, blushing as her jaw cracked loudly, “Sorry.”

“I will leave you to rest,” Severus told her.

Rosalie shook her head, “No, stay...Please?”

“Your friends—“

Rosalie grasped his arm, “I’ll leave Hermione a note: ‘I destroyed the locket with Dumbledore tonight and he gave me Dreamless Sleep so that I could get some rest’. Kreacher can give it to her once she wakes up. They’ll leave us alone.”

Severus barely hesitated.

“We ward your door,” he told her, realising even as he conceded that he’d only been waiting for an excuse to stay.

Rosalie nodded, “Sure. Just stay with me?”

Severus dipped his head once in reply and happiness washed over her, sensitizing her skin and making her stomach flip. She kissed him chastely, her hands framing his face.

“Call your elf,” he replied, drawing back as he drifted away, his hands moving to his robes and the long line of buttons that kept them closed from his throat to his navel.

Dashing across to her desk, Rosalie quickly penned the note she would instruct Kreacher to give to Hermione should either one of them oversleep as they had done in the past when they’d spent the night together.

The elf took the note without issue, vowing to keep the mudblood away from her room at all cost and then popped back to wherever he’d come from.

Severus was already ensconced beneath the covers, her bed magically widened for two and she made quick work of shedding her clothes, feeling his eyes on her all the while. Realising this she slowed her movements, looking back at him as she unclasped her bra and her underwear found its way to the floor. Her nightdress was nothing more than an old t-shirt, oversized and threadbare. It fell to mid-thigh as she slipped it on over her head and it occurred to her that she should perhaps be embarrassed by the somewhat shabby appearance of her night clothes. The way Severus was looking at her though, made her think it probably didn’t matter much.

“How is your training coming along?”

Rosalie shrugged.

“Good, I guess. I am able to hold my own—I even bested Kingsley once. It was mostly luck, but he seemed pleased,” Rosalie told him as she slipped beneath the covers alongside him, moving into his side, “Honestly, it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Mrs. Weasley is here _everyday_ cleaning and cooking so she can keep an eye on us. She means well, I know, but her constant presence is stifling. She doesn’t think we should be taking any part in the war, let alone with some secret task set by Dumbledore. Sometimes I think she’s right.”

“Albus has his reasons,” Severus told her, “The information you have is obviously sensitive. Certainly not something he wants to risk become common knowledge amongst the Order. It is naive to assume that I am the only double agent in this war, after all. Why else do you think you have had a full time guard in a house under the fidelius?”

“I know, and I agree that the information is sensitive. The less people who learn the truth, the better. It feels like Dumbledore just appeasing us, though, by keeping us busy researching and making us think that we’re helping. Surely there are those he could trust this information to who’d be of more use than us? I mean, I am confined to Grimmauld place and Ron, Hermione and me—we’re trying to research something you just _don’t_ find in books. It’s a waste of time. Ron and Hermione, at least, should be in school actually learning something, shouldn’t they? I don’t know what Dumbledore expects us to find that he hasn’t already thought of...”

“I think, to a certain degree you are correct—he’s appeasing you by trying to give you something to focus your attention on other that your own confinement, but you also underestimate the Headmaster’s cunning,” Severus told her, “Loathed as I am to admit it, you and your friends have proven that you work well as a team. You are more than capable of assisting the Headmaster with this task and by utilising your skills he is not drawing on already strained Order resources or risking the information being in any way leaked. Your allegiance to one another is unquestionable—the knowledge is safe in your hands.”

Rosalie nodded half-heartedly, worrying her lower lips between her teeth, “Do you truly believe that there could be a spy in the Order? What if they expose you as a traitor?”

“It is always a possibility,” Severus agreed, “to my knowledge, however, there is no one we should be overly concerned about. As a safe guard however I feed certain information back to the Dark Lord in order to maintain my cover as a spy. He would be a fool not to question my allegiances, but I believe I do enough to ensure he continues to believe in my loyalty to him.”

“What kind of information?” Rosalie questioned.

“That Albus has you under twenty-four hour guard and that you live at the Order’s headquarters—which he knows is under the fidelius and I therefore cannot disclose,” Severus replied, “Basic information that feels important but in the long run is of little use to him.”

“Does he know about this,” Rosalie asked warily, gesturing between the two of them.

“He knows that I am working at forming a closer relationship with you in order to try and gain your trust. That is all,” Severus assured her.

Rosalie nodded, “He’s going to use you to lure me out.”

Severus shrugged, “It is unclear at this stage. I think he is merely trying to manoeuvre all his players into a position of advantage. I do not believe he is forming plan to try and capture you at this stage.”

“This is all so messed up,” Rosalie sighed, “When I was little, before Hogwarts, I always dreamt that I would grow up one day and leave the Dursley’s forever and when I did my life would be great! No more rules, I’d do what I wanted!”

Rosalie sighed, rolling into him and lying against his chest, “Instead I became a witch, famous and have had to do things I never dreamt possible because an evil wizard is out to get me.”

“We all wish to be free of his shackles, Rose,” Severus offered solemnly, “We _will_ defeat him.”

“And then what? I’m not sure I’ll even recognise myself at the end of all this. I feel like my entire purpose in life has been to fulfil some prophecy and conquer evil—”

“We are all more than our roles in this war. You are more than your supposed ‘destiny’,” Severus told her emphatically. She was more than aware of the credence he placed on the prophecy.

“I know but I’ve done things. Things I can’t just forget about and put behind me—I’ve killed and hurt people—I don’t know how to move on from that. Mostly, I just try not to think about it, but living with Ron and Hermione again has made me realise just how much I have changed. We don’t fit like we used to.”

Severus tucked her hair back from her face and cupped her jaw making her look up at him so he could see her eyes clearly.

“You and I walk a path that is different from anyone else in this Order. We are both soldiers of the Light in our own way, but we have both been tainted by Darkness. It doesn’t mean you are destined to go Dark, or that you have something evil or malevolent at your core though. It took me a long time—years—to realise that. It merely means that we have seen and experienced the world in different ways and we know that life is not so black and white,” Severus told her seriously, “Granger and Weasley have not had to bear the same hardships and they will never see things from quite the same perspective as you do. That does not make you inferior to them.”

“But I’ve killed people—”

“What have you done that wasn’t in self defence?” Severus asked her plainly, “Do not torture yourself over this so needlessly. You’ve done nothing that anyone else in your place wouldn’t have done.”

Rosalie sighed, “I know. I get that deep down. And like I said, mostly I just try not to think about it all. Ron and Hermione just make me feel like I am losing myself, sometimes, or at least losing who I used to be.”

“I believe it’s called growing up; you’ve just been forced to mature quicker than they have. For all that they are playing a part in this war, their life, for the most part, has remained sheltered.”

Rosalie nodded, “I’m glad. They deserve to grow up sheltered and happy and loved.”

Severus hummed in half-hearted agreement.

“I’m glad I can talk to you,” she added pressing her lips into his chest, “How are things and Hogwarts?”

“The children are scared. Many have not returned for the year and as such they have been roomed together in their dormitories to ensure no one is left alone. Slytherin in particular is in a state of flux. Draco, as you know, did not return and they are absent their leader when they are in most need of one. The entire school remains suspicious of anything in green and sliver. You can imagine the chaos involved with emotions running high and teenaged hormones driving their every decision.”

“The school is segregated,” Rosalie nodded.

“Letters home are no longer a strong enough deterrent,” Severus agreed.

“You’ve had a hard couple of weeks,” She noted, running her hand soothingly up and down his side.

“It is beginning to settle somewhat,” Severus sighed.

“It is...a welcome relief to be free of the castle for the night, though.” Severus continued, wondering when exactly Grimmauld Place had become his place of comfort and safety. It was a completely foreign concept for him, but one that wasn’t hard to trace the aetiology of. It boggled his mind that he’d allowed himself to become so comfortable—so familiar—with her presence that he could relax and allow himself to unwind so easily. She didn’t even realise how tightly she had wormed her way into him or how much of himself he’d opened up to her. How could she when he too was only just figuring it out?

Their conversation waned naturally and Severus allowed himself to shut his eyes and relax back into the pillow and her warmth. When he opened his eyes again it was morning and the golden glow of morning light was creeping in around the edges of the curtains. For once, he felt both relaxed and well rested.

Rosalie was spread out on her stomach beside him, her head turned away and her dark hair splayed across the pillow behind her. Severus picked up a silky lock and rubbed it between his fingers as he inhaled the warm vanilla scent, ignoring the faint stirrings of arousal that now accompanied that smell. Her smell.

Using his wand he flicked open the curtains, allowing the weak morning light to filter in through the room and bathe her in the golden hue of morning. Her t-shirt had ridden up around her waist during the night and the sheet slipped down, exposing a soft strip of flesh about her middle to his greedy gaze. Gentle fingertips traced the contours of her body, following the dip of her spine and up over the gentle swell of her buttocks. She was truly exquisite.

“Severus,” she shifted restlessly under his questing fingers, her eyes blinking open as her hips pushed back into his hand, “Touch me.”

Severus flattened his hand over the curve of her arse at the softly spoken command, squeezing gently before drifting down, his fingers burrowing into the dark space between her legs. She was already slick and ready and she moaned as he dipped into her centre from behind, parting her folds and dragging her wetness back up her crease.

“On your knees,” he told her, encouraging her to bring her hips up off of the bed.

Rosalie obeyed him readily, crawling up onto her knees, hips swaying as she moved into position until her arse was high in the air, knees spread wide.

Severus felt his whole being throb with arousal.

“Exquisite,” he to murmured, his hand once more smoothing over her arse as he absorbed the image she present: the sharp downward curve of her spine, her chest pressed low on the bed clutching tightly to the pillow before her while her arse sat up on display so perfectly, her sex held open by the spread of her knees. It was the picture of submission. It was need and desire and wanton sex. It was Rosalie Potter begging him to take her with her body.

“Please,” she whispered agonizingly, glancing back at him over her shoulder, hunger setting her eyes ablaze, “Fuck me, Severus.”

Severus moaned. Fuck her he would. He wanted to sink himself inside that welcome heat and hammer into her like a man possessed. He wanted to lose himself to her and reckless abandon. He was pulsating with need for her, his cock hard and aching with desperate want.

He could see her arousal slickening her folds in the morning light and he ran his fingers through it, collecting it liberally as he pushed at his boxers. He slathered his shaft in her juices, readying his cock for entry.

Rosalie writhed restlessly, hips swaying in front of him tantalisingly and eyes hooded as she tempted him in. Did she even realise how fucking arousing that was he wondered as he aligned the head of his prick with her glistening entrance and thrust himself through the tight circle of his fist into her grasping channel.

“Severus!” she cried hoarsely, her grip turning white-knuckled on the pillow before her as she rocked back into his entry.

Severus mouth fell open in a silent moan of relief as her heat engulfed him, drawing him in until he was buried to the hilt, balls pressed against the dewy folds of her sex.

“Rose...”

She moaned, her voice thick with a need his body echoed, a need he couldn’t ignore, “Fuck me.”

Severus did, one hand on the flare of her hip pulling her hips back into his in tandem with his thrusts as the other pressed down into the small of her back as he fucked into her with a single minded focus.

“Oh!” Rosalie cried as her senses exploded, a white hot burn of pleasure building rapidly in her core and spreading out over her body as he pounded into her in long strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the air as his balls smacked rhythmically against her clit and the musky smell of sex filled the room. She could feel the stress leaving her body with every thrust of his hips and bliss pulsed through her as a different kind of tension began to build.

“Harder,” Rosalie gasped, no longer able to control the obscene sounds of pleasure that were falling from her lips.

Severus moaned, his hands flexing over her hips as he snapped his hips into hers as hard as he dared, “You have no idea what you do to me...”

Rosalie stretched her arms out, her fingers curling around the posts of the bed head, “Tell me.”

“I have never desired anyone with such a passion as I do you. You are all consuming. Your every nuance wholly captivating. You make me forget myself,” Severus gasped, barely paying attention to the words that were tumbling from his mouth as they both sunk into the bed. They were lying flush against one another now, Severus pressed into her back and his hips rocking into her more than thrusting, barely leaving her warmth as he pressed into her in a steady grind. He nuzzled aside the material of her t-shirt, now bunched around her shoulders and pressed his lips into the curve of her shoulder blade, his teeth scraping lightly over the soft unblemished flesh.

“You’re attracted to me for the way I look?” Rosalie gasped, tilting her pelvis back into his, deepening the penetration. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, trapped beneath her body the way his weight trapped her against the bed. His weight against her back was not uncomfortable, though. It appealed to her in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“I could never be so attracted to someone who did not also find mentally engaging,” told her breathlessly, the words smeared against her throat where his head was pressed into the side of her neck.

“Oh...”

Her orgasm washed over her like the receding pull of the tide moments before a tsunami broke against the shore. She could feel herself drawing down, rapidly pulling in as the pleasure built, gaining force, gathering momentum at her core until it coalesced into something huge and momentous, bursting out over her and shattering her utterly to pieces as the wave broke shore.

She heard herself gasp and then _moan_ , her fingers gripping at the sheet under her reflexively and turning white-knuckled in his hair as she reached back to anchor him to her.

“Severus...”

His hip continued their steady grind as she lay devastated in his arms, sweat sticking curls of hair to her forehead as he sought his own release moments later with an aborted cry, shuddering gasp and herculean thrust of his hips that send a rippling shock of pleasure tingling through her body as he spilled himself inside of her.

Rosalie moaned contentedly, heavy with contentment as warm soft kisses were pressed into the back of her neck. He rolled them to the side before he allowed himself to collapse back onto the bed, pulling her with him until her back was plastered against his chest, her head lolling back to rest against his shoulder as they panted for breath.

“That was incredible,” Rosalie gasped, the afterglow suffusing her body and making her limbs feel weighted and loose, “I just...I want to stay in this moment forever.”

Severus hummed, his hand skating down her abdomen, ghosting over her folds once more to cup the place where their bodies were still joined as one. His fingers parted around his softening girth, not stimulating, just feeling.

Rosalie blinked and sat up at the feel of Severus gently disengaging from her and slipping from the bed, wondering when exactly she’d managed to fall asleep again, “What time is it?”

“Half eight,” Severus told her as he slipped back into his boxers and pants, “I’ll need to leave for a time so I can ‘arrive’ via floo later this morning.”

Rosalie nodded, sliding out from beneath the comfort of her sheets and letting her t-shirt fall back into place as she padded across to open the window. It wouldn’t take much to set her room back to sorts—a quick _Finite_ on the bed and a good _Scourgify_ on her sheets—but she’d have to leave the window open to air out the lingering scent of their pleasure.

“We will need to spend the day training as we planned,” Severus informed her, “Tomorrow I need time to see to the potions I left brewing here. With any luck my stasis charm has held.”

Rosalie nodded and shivered at the sharp gust of air that rushed in behind her through the open window, “Okay. I’ll see you later?”

Severus cast a warming charm over her, “After breakfast.”

Rosalie smiled and watched him disapparated out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** This chapter has been SUCH a chore to write. I just can’t look at it anymore. I’m still not happy with it, but I needed to move on from it. I’m sorry about the long delay in posting, when I mentioned that posts would begin to slow as they caught up with my writing speed I didn’t expect that it would take this long to get one chapter out! I hope you’re all still with me.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twenty Two**

“Rose!”

“Morning, ‘Mione,” Rosalie greeted with a smile as she exited the bathroom, a cloud of steam drifting out behind her, “You’re up early.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Hermione asked with a chuckled, “I got your note. I didn’t think you’d be up until at least noon after taking Dreamless Sleep.”

Rosalie blushed feeling the lie flood her cheeks as she replied, “I only took a half dose. I feel loads better though.”

“Well that’s good, I suppose,” Hermione said with a smile, “How’d it go last night with the Locket?”

Rosalie shivered, “It’s gone. It wasn’t anything like I expected it should be... but, we should find Ron before we discuss anymore. I don’t want him to feel like we’re excluding him and I don’t want to have to explain this twice.”

Hermione looked at her a moment, her gaze indecipherable before nodding, “Lets head down to breakfast then, that’s probably where he’ll be.”

Rosalie smiled, gesturing to the bundle of clothes in her hands, “Just let me put my stuff away quickly.”

Rosalie dashed down the hall to her room, tossing the bundle of nightclothes onto her bed before spelling her towel dry and hanging it over the foot end. She shivered as a gust of wind billowed her curtains into the room, airing out the smell of Severus and sex. She sniffed once delicately before nodding to herself and latching it shut again. 

“Rose?” Hermione called from the hall.

“I’m coming!” Rosalie called back as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, making sure her hair was sitting right before darting out the door, “Sorry, let’s go.”

Rosalie shut her door behind her as she met her friend in the hall and together the two of the turned for the stairs. They walked side by side down the hall, simple unstrained silence between them as them approached the head of the stairs. 

“You look nice today,” Hermione noted as they began their descent. Her eye appraising as she looked Rosalie up and down.

Rosalie smiled, “Thanks.”

“Not that you don’t always look annoyingly amazing, you know, but you look really pretty today,” Hermione continued, “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion? There is no occasion. Not that I’m aware of. I didn’t even really do anything different,” Rosalie replied hating the slightly defensive tone that had crept into her voice. Hating more that Hermione was sure to notice it, especially if the slight narrowing of her friends gaze was anything to go by.

“Maybe it’s just the effects of having a good night sleep for once,” Hermione smiled, though her tone said that she believed thought otherwise.

“Yeah,” Rosalie nodded, “That’s probably it. It’s amazing how much more energy I have.”

Hermione nodded as they crossed the lounge, “Are you training with Shacklebolt today? Or perhaps... Professor Snape? Did the Headmaster mention when he might be back to resume your lessons?”

Rosalie shot her friend a glare, but refused to rise to the bait, “I’ll be training with someone. I’m not really sure how they work out a schedule for who I train with and when, but if Shacklebolt doesn’t show up then perhaps Tonks or Severus or—” Rosalie stopped abruptly as they reached the stairs that led down to the basement kitchen, “Can you hear that?”

The muffled sounds of raised voices were filtering up the stairs and both girls stopped as they strained to hear what was being said.

Rosalie frowned, “Is that...?”

Hermione nodded and as one they crept closer, keeping their backs pressed against the wall as the snuck down the staircase until they were less than a foot outside of the doorway. Rosalie leant forward careful to remain out of sight as they listened to the unmistakable sound of Mrs. Weasley’s voice, strained with exasperation, as she pleaded with her son.

Hermione’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

_“Enough is enough, Ron; you can’t keep on like this! This attitude is not winning you any friends—and it’s certainly not helping you keep the ones you already have!”_

_“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m entitled to an opinion. I have to live in this house too and I don’t bloody want him in it!”_

‘Snape’ Rosalie mouthed over her shoulder, as the familiar strains of Ron’s ire drifted back at them. Hermione nodded, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth in concern. Molly was only the next in line to be on the receiving end of Ron’s anger, it would seem. Rosalie didn’t have to see him to know his face would already be turning a blotchy shade of red, his hands gesticulating wildly to try and emphasise his point.

_“Severus Snape is a trusted member of the Order—”_

Ron’s scoff was derisive as he cut her off. 

_“Oh, how could I forget? You, Dumbledore, Rose...Merlin, even Hermione don’t stop singing his bloody praises! Just because Rosalie thinks the sun shines out of Snape’s pasty white arse doesn’t mean I have to agree with her...but as usual my opinion counts for nothing, does it?”_

_“Just as my opinion, clearly means nothing to you!”_

_“And!? Why should I care about what anyone else has to say, when no one cares to listen to me?”_

_“Is this really the man I raised you to be? By Merlin, Ronald Weasley! You have done nothing but whinge and throw tantrums since the moment Rosalie landed here this summer! Did you even stop to consider, that perhaps people would take you seriously if you had conducted yourself and this situation in a more adult-like manner instead of screaming foul with no proof to back it up? Severus is as welcome in this house as any other member of the Order. He does not deserve to be spoken to in such as way as you spoke to him just now and I will not have it!”_

Hermione’s grip was tight on her shoulder and Rosalie lifted her hand to squeeze nervously at her friends fingers as they waited in the silence that followed for Ron to respond to his mother. 

_”Everyone is on her side...”_

His tone sounded defeated. Deflated of anger.

 _”Who, Rosalie? I thought_ we _were on her side Ron...”_

_“No one gets it. I’m in love with her and I only want to protect her... Snape is bad news. I don’t care what side of the war he claims he is on, he’s always had a personal vendetta against Rose since the day they first met. All my worries are merely an annoyance to people though, my love something to be brushed aside. No one listens to me because to Rosalie, I’m nothing.”_

Rosalie was shaking her head. 

“That’s not true,” she breathed.

Mrs. Weasley sighed.

_“Ron, you can’t make someone love you nor can you force someone to see things the way you want them to. The best we can do is keep watch for the people we love and be there for them when things go wrong. What are you achieving by acting the way you do towards Severus? All you are doing is antagonising the people around you and potentially tipping your hand to someone you don’t trust. I can’t force you to accept Severus, but I would caution you to restrain yourself from blowing up like this around him!”_

The room fell silent and Rosalie held her breath, waiting for Ron’s response. If anyone could get through to him, it would be Molly. Hermione’s grip on her shoulder was white knuckled with anticipation as they waited with baited breath for his answer.

_“You just don’t get it. I’m not apologising.”_

_“Ronald Weasley—”_

_“No. I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m not apologising for shit. Snape’s a slimy bastard and I’m only looking out for Rosalie when no one else seems to care. If no one else can see that, perhaps its better that I move back home for a while.”_

_“Ron—”_

Hermione jumped like a startled rabbit as Ron suddenly appeared before them like a tower of icy fury. He glared down at them silently, both guilty-faced in the act of eavesdropping. Rosalie felt her face flood with shame as she stared up into his unusually cool gaze, glacial where they would normally be burning with anger.

“Anything you want to add?” he prompted, his voice a challenging accusation.

Hermione was shaking her head as Rosalie choked on her words, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she looked to her friend helplessly.

“Of course not. It’s not like you haven’t said it all before anyway,” Ron huffed, pushing pasted them and making his way back up the stairs. 

Rosalie watched the rigid outline of his retreating back as he took the stairs two at a time before disappearing from sight. 

“Rose...” Hermione whispered, her voice almost nonexistent.

Rosalie swallowed thickly around the lump that had formed in her throat as it finally occurred to her with a burning sense of clarity that no matter how much she might wish it, her relationship with Ron would never ever be what it once was again. They’d been irreparably changed by their choices and what was already strained between them would become infinitely worse once he learned the truth of her relationship with Snape. Things were only going to get worse from here on out, not better.

“I think we’re done,” Rosalie whispered.

Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders, her head tucking into the curve of Rosalie’s neck as she embraced her friend, “He’ll come ‘round...”

“No. He won’t.” 

Not once he _knows_...

*

Within an hour of Ron’s argument with his mother, he’d collected his things and floo’d back to the Burrow. Rosalie hadn’t seen him leave. After being caught eavesdropping on his argument, she’d turned tail and taken herself off to the relative safety of the library, forgoing breakfast in her need seek shelter from the glacial storm that was Ronald Weasley. There was little more to be said between them, wasn’t there? Hermione, she thought, had tried to talk him out of leaving, but even that was just a gut feeling. She suspected the brunette had gone to speak to him when Rosalie had ditched her on the stairs.

“I hear Mr. Weasley has decided to return to the Burrow for the foreseeable future,” Severus said as she closed the door of their training room behind her and crossed the room to him.

Rosalie nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped into his embrace. Familiar hands settled themself onto her hips, sure and steady. With some reluctance Rosalie lifted her gaze to meet his, feeling oddly vulnerable to his judgement. There was no love lost between Severus and Ron and she supposed a part of her feared his derision for feeling the way she did over her friend’s departure. His midnight eyes were calm and steady, however, and she felt herself relax into him.

“I’m sorry that it has come to this,” he told her frankly. 

Rosalie shook her head as she heaved a tired sigh, tucking her head into his chest. 

“Ron and I haven’t been right for longer than either of us cared to admit,” Rosalie told him quietly, “I should have seen this coming.”

“You feel responsible for this,” Severus stated, reading the guilt in her body language as she avoided his gaze, pulling out of his arms only to wrap her own tightly around her frame. She turned from him, presenting him the tense line of her back and Severus’ frowned, “this is not your fault. Mr. Weasley chose to leave of his own accord.” 

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” Rosalie asked, “I feel like this is the ‘pivotal moment’ where I am supposed to run after him and tell him that he can’t leave because we need him here and he’ll stay and things will be okay again. I can’t, though... I can’t because I don’t want him to take it as something that it isn’t. I can’t because I think he _needs_ this distance from us—or at least from _me_ —and I can’t because, deep down I don’t want him here anymore. I feel _relieved_ that I won’t have to deal with his shit every day or creep around the house to avoid running into him.”

“Just because you have grown apart does not mean that you no longer care for one another. Given time you may repair this rift between you, but until that occurs, things will be better off this way. Weasley’s behaviour had become a distraction. You were right to not prevent him from leaving.” Severus counselled, his hand coming up to grasp her shoulder reassuringly.

“I know,” Rosalie sighed turning back to him, her eyebrows drawn down in a tight anxious line across her face, “But this feels horrible. He was my first real friend. I feel like I’ve betrayed him.”

“Weasley has got nothing he hasn’t brought on himself,” Severus scoffed, “You have more important things to be focusing on than the fact Ron Weasley is a moron. Once he realises that, he will come back to you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Rosalie nodded, letting the insult Severus had just delivered Ron slide. Ron was being moron. There was no getting around that, even if his heart was in the right place.

“Focus your energies into something that will benefit you,” Severus told her, “You have already determined that for now there is nothing you can do to help Weasley, so instead focus on something else.”

“Like training,” Rosalie agreed.

“Like defeating the Dark Lord,” Severus returned pointedly.

“Voldemo—”

“You must not speak his name!” Severus hissed, cutting her off midspeech, “There have been whisperings that the Dark Lord has once again invoked a taboo upon his name.”

Rosalie frowned up at him in confusion, “A taboo?”

“An exceedingly complex dark curse that reveals to him the location of anyone who speaks his name,” Severus explained, “He used it during the first war to great success. So great, in fact, that to this day there are only a handful of witches and wizards brave enough to utter his name aloud—yourself and Albus, for instance.”

“It would reveal my location even through the Fidelius?” Rosalie asked, her tone taken aback.

“It is unlikely, but it may very well bring unwanted attention upon the general area. There are still those in the Dark Lord’s service who would recognise the significance of this locale even with the Fidelius in effect,” Severus conceded, “It would be best that you try and train yourself now to avoid using his name. You won’t always have the protection of the Fidelius to shield you. We cannot risk exposing you before you are ready to defeat him.”

Rosalie hummed in agreement. She knew now how lucky she had been over the years that Voldemort had let his own fears stay his hand each time their paths had crossed after that fateful Halloween night sixteen years ago. Even with the protection of his horcruxes in place, he had learnt to fear her, or at least fear the possibility that to attempt to kill her again was to once again destroy himself in the process. Now that he knew whatever protections had allowed her to survive his attack no longer held, though, she was once more fair game and until each of the seven horcruxes he’d created had been destroyed, he had the advantage as they would never truly be rid of him, no matter that they might destroy his body. 

“No, we can’t risk it,” Rosalie agreed. Not if she were truly to be the one to end this.

Severus was eyeing her closely, like he somehow knew the dark turn her thoughts had taken, “It has been some time since we have trained together, although Shacklebolt informed me that he is pleased with how far you have progressed in such a short amount of time.”

Rosalie smiled tightly, “His teaching methods allow for nothing less. He’s taken a page out of your book.”

Severus smirked, “How have you managed incorporating Legilimency into your repertoire?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Kingsley has a naturally closed off mind and I find him difficult to read. I rarely make it past his defences let alone in far enough to skim anything useful from his thoughts. He doesn’t seem to sense my intrusion though.”

Severus nodded, “Shacklebolt is a natural Occlumens, as is Lupin due to his nature.”

“Tonks is easier. When I have the opportunity to duel with her I have been able to use Legilimency to anticipate some of her moves, but it is difficult maintaining a dual focus.”

“You must continue your meditation exercises. It will help you both strengthen and focus your mind,” Severus told her, though she could tell from his tone that he was as pleased with her progress as Kingsley was, “We shall begin with duelling so I can assess your progress.”

“I hope you’ve warmed up,” She teased, watching in silent appreciation as Severus moved to removed his outer robes and roll back the sleeves of his shirt. Rosalie followed his lead, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail atop of her head as she moved to stand across from him in the centre of the room, “I’m pretty good now.”

“We shall see,” Severus smirked as he withdrew his wand from its sheath and indicated that they might bow to one another. 

Rosalie laughed, holding his gaze as she followed his lead and lowered her torso into a traditional pre-match bow. While her tone was light, though, Rosalie’s mind was already whirring as it catalogued everything about the way he stood from the placement of his feet and centre of gravity, to the light fingered grasp he had on his wand. It told her he was planning to open the duel with either a stunning hex or blinding jinx that would temporarily rob her of her eyesight. She was ready though, weeks of dodging Kingsley’s sneak attacks teaching her to look for any opening, even the smallest of tells and exploit it to her own advantage. All it took was the split second his gaze left her own for her to spring into action. She fired at him whilst he was still bent at the waist, his gaze turned from hers.

Severus hissed as he nimbly dodged the blasting hex that took out part of the floor where he’d been standing and shielded against the severing hex that barrelled into him less than a heartbeat later. Suitably impressed he sharpened his focus.

“How very Slytherin of you, to attack before we’d completed the Opening Rites,” Severus needled.

“I’ve learnt recently to embrace some of my more Slytherin qualities,” Rosalie returned unfazed, “I doubt any Death Eaters will be upholding the Opening Rites before they begin trying for First Blood.”

“Unlikely,” Severus agreed, as he returned his own barrage of spells, signalling the end of their banter as they began their duel in earnest. She was quick and nimble, matching him hit for hit as they decimated the room around them. Technically, while her form was good, she was far from perfect, but they were training her to think on her feet, to act and react with deadly precision and in that respect her skill was already quite remarkable.

“ _Bombarda_!” 

Severus hissed as he deflected the spell away from him, watching out of the corner of his eye as it ignited the curtains behind him. Blood was running down his face, copious and metallic in his mouth as he caught her in a tripping jinx. She hit the ground—hard—and as one they called it, bringing an end to their duel without little more than a look as they turned their attention to the curtains that were threatening to set fire to the room around them.

Rosalie pushed herself to her feet as Severus cast a muffled sounding Aguamenti at the burning fabric, his free hand cupping his broken nose to try and contain the flow of blood. 

“Let me see,” Rosalie insisted the minute the flames had been dealt with.

It was a tribute to how far they’d come that Severus immediately sat down and let her inspect the damage she’d caused by breaking his nose. Again. 

“I got you good,” Rosalie said apologetically as she waved her wand over his face to stop the blood that was still flowing freely from his nose and down his face. Gentle fingers palpated the misshapen appendage and she cringed at unnatural bend she’d caused, “Madame Pomfrey will have to look at this. I think it’s fractured in two places.”

“This too, needs her attention,” Severus pointed out, his fingers ghosting over the burnt and blistered skin of her waist.

Rosalie nodded, only now realising the pain in her side as he called attention to the injury she’d sustained there, “I’ll call her.”

She turned from him, only looking back as his long fingers curled around her wrist, “I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made. Shacklebolt is right to be proud of you as am I.”

Rosalie felt warmth suffuse her chest at his words, freely given. She leant down, mindful of his broken nose, and pressed her lips into his. The metallic taste of his blood was on her lips as she drew back from him, but it was easy enough to ignore when he was looking at her the way he was, “Thank you.” 

“Go summon Pomfrey,” he told her as they parted, his eyes gentle though his face remained otherwise impassive. Rosalie smiled and pulled back from him, making her way out of the room to the nearest floo feeling a million times lighter and happier than she had when she’d walked into the room.

*

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” Hermione asked, gesturing the burn about her waist that was already turning a shiny pink as the skin healed over.

Rosalie frowned, “What do you mean?”

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a sure sign that whatever she was trying to say, she felt unsure, “Well, it’s just, you don’t come back from Shacklebolt looking like this... Do you think that maybe Snape might be taking it a little far?”

Rosalie considered how this must look to someone like Hermione who never saw the bruises and abrasions Shacklebolt left on her before she’d had a chance to heal them. The burn had hurt, but the only reason it had hit her in the first place was because she’d hesitated and Snape had taken advantage of her indecision, “It looks pretty horrible, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded, “I know it will heal, it already looks ten times better than it did an hour ago, it’s just that...”

“You’re worried that maybe Ron was right and Snape really _is_ trying to kill me after all?” Rosalie prompted.

“No! I mean... I know he would never purposefully hurt you. I just wonder if this is really necessary,” Hermione huffed.

“It’s not just Snape, you know. The first time I trained with Kingsley he I left looking like one big bruise. I need to be able to hold my own against Death Eaters, ‘Mione. I need to be able to beat them or else I’ll never stand a chance against Vo— _Riddle_. Shacklebolt fights like an Auror. Snape fights like a Death Eater. He’s making me a better fighter by not pulling his punches.”

Hermione shrugged, “I guess.”

“I’m giving back just as much as he’s dishing out,” Rosalie told her reassuringly, “I broke his nose in two places. Madame Pomfrey had to set it straight for him again.”

“I know. I guess... as long as you’re okay with it, then I should be too,” Hermione replied, “Why don’t you tell me about what the Headmaster said?”

Rosalie nodded, “I mentioned the difficulties we were having in terms of finding anything useful to base our research on and he asked that we instead look into the house at Little Hangleton that belonged to Riddle’s parents. He thinks it’s possible that one of Horcruxes may be hidden there.”

“I imagine it would definitely a location that holds a lot of meaning for You-Know-Who,” Hermione agreed.

“Exactly,” Rosalie agreed.

Hermione frowned, “You know...I’m sure there is plenty of wizarding documentation on the house given its history, but I imagine if it’s originally a muggle dwelling then we would find more looking into local muggle government records. They may even have schematics on file that we could use to help plan our search.”

Rosalie grimaced, “Muggle records? That’s going to make things difficult. How do you propose we access those?”

Hermione shook her head, “We’ll see what wizarding publications we can find first, but you know, I think as long as we are looking into the house, we should look into the graveyard too and the members of the Riddle family who are buried there. We’ll also need a list of occupants who lived there _after_ the death of the Riddles so we can establish a timeline of when You-Know-Who would have been able to come back and hide the horcrux.”

“This is why you’re my friend, ‘Mione,” Rosalie grinned, “I’d be lost without you.”

“I know,” Hermione laughed, “This feels weird without Ron here, don’t you think?”

Rosalie sighed, “Yeah, but I relieved too...He’d made things so uncomfortable around here that now that he’s gone I feel like I can breathe again.”

“The last few weeks _have_ been fairly awkward, even for me.” Hermione agreed, “Now that he’s left though I feel like I should have done more to prevent things from getting to this point.”

“What could you have done, Hermione?” Rosalie asked, “His issue is with me—my friendship with Snape, my inability to return his affections, my apparent lack of care for anything and everything he had to say...he’s throwing a tantrum because I don’t value him in the way he wants me to and my friendship, apparently, is no longer good enough!”

Hermione reached over to pull her friend into a tight embrace, “I’m sure he just needs some time to move past all this...You’ve been his lifelong dream since before you even met and now suddenly he has to face the reality that the two of you aren’t going to grow up and get married like he’d always believed you would. He’ll come around again, I’m sure of it.”

Rosalie wasn’t sure that she had the same faith in Ron’s ability to forgive and forget. He wore a grudge like a wet blanket and things would only get worse once he learnt the truth of her relationship with Severus. He would see it as a betrayal and it would break whatever meagre threads of friendship remained between them. He would pull the fickle rug of friendship right out from beneath her feet and blacklist her as he had everyone else who didn’t live up to his black and white expectations of life. You were good or you were a Death Eater. What choice did she have though? To choose the broken remains of a friendship with Ron when she knew he’d never truly be happy with the knowledge that they would never be more than just friends, or risk it all and chose Severus who had been in her corner since day one; Severus whose mere presence made her feel lighter, happier and more whole than she could ever recall... She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that go, not for Ron, not anyone. 

Her eyes drifted to the door of Severus’ potions lab as she thought about the man working behind it. She only hoped that Severus felt the same way about her.

*

Hours later the thought was still circling within her mind, bouncing back and forth and making her wonder whether or not Severus was merely delaying the inevitable with her—biding his time until he eventually rejected her once more. Perhaps he’d never intended for this _thing_ between them to survive past the end of the war or even long enough for anyone to find out about it in the first place... She’d give up everything for him, but could he even offer her the same in return?

Suddenly, she was no longer content to wait for him to take his fill and be done with her. She needed answers. Her relationship with Ron had suffered over this (at least in part) and she couldn’t let herself be content with not knowing whether or not it had been worth it. 

She needed for Severus to tell her it had been worth it. That she was worth it.

The door opened easily under her hands and Rosalie slipped inside on silent feet closing the door soundlessly behind her. 

“Good evening,” Severus greeted without glancing up, wide awake though it was already some minutes past midnight and Hermione had been abed for hours. Had he been waiting for her? She hoped so. Merlin, she hoped so. 

He was propped up against the headboard, his longlegs extended before him and his socked feet crossed at the ankle as he looked over the stack of parchments that rested atop his lap. Student essays, no doubt, now that Hogwarts was back in term. The thought made her smile. How many times had a paper of hers made it into his bed? If only she’d known at the time, Merlin only knew what she would have done with such information! How different things were now...

“Hi,” she smiled as she crossed the room, crawling up onto the bed beside him. From this distance she could see the yellowish tint of a fading bruise disappearing from under his eyes, the only remaining evidence that she’d broken his nose only that morning. Ironically, his nose looked straighter than it had to begin with and Rosalie was suitably impressed with Madame Pomfrey’s handiwork as she gently palpated its length, “How’s your nose?”

Severus smirked. 

“Healing,” he replied as he passed the stack of parchments off to the bedside table, “And you?”

Rosalie moved to straddle his lap, lifting her camisole up over where the burn had been. Severus reached out and ran his warm hand over the shiny new skin, almost indiscernible from the soft unmarked flesh of her stomach, “Almost gone.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, his thumb brushing over the smooth taut flesh lingeringly.

Rosalie bit her lip and carded her hands through his still somewhat damp hair. He’d showered at some point between now and when she’d last seen him and the fresh smell of his soap wafted around her as she disturbed the stands of his hair. Severus closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the palms of her hands as she scratched her nails over his scalp lightly.

“Do you need to work on your potions tomorrow?” Rosalie murmured unsure how to bring up what she truly wanted to talk about.

“For a time,” Severus replied, “The Dark Lord is expecting to see the results of a number of projects I have been working on.”

Rosalie frowned, “The truth serum?”

Severus opened his eyes to look up at her, “I will trial the antidote tomorrow.”

Rosalie let her hands fall to his chest, “Do you want me there? Perhaps I can help? Or perhaps you could trial the serum on me?”

“That will not be necessary,” Severus replied, taking her hand and pressing his lips against her inner wrist briefly, “I’m more than confident in the concoction I have brewed. This will be merely a formality to confirm my results.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay, but I am willing to be a guinea pig for you if necessary.”

Severus smirked, “I will keep that in mind should I come across anything I wish to...experiment with.”

“Within reason, thank you,” Rosalie chuckled, leaning down to press her lips against his as Severus slipped his arm about her waist, his warm hand running up the length of her back, “Do you need to finish up with those essays?”

Warm lips travelled the smooth column of her neck, his nose dipping into the hollow behind her ear briefly as he inhaled her scent, “Not tonight.”

Rosalie smiled against his skin, her stomach alight with butterflies as her own hands found their way under his shirt and into the light smattering of hair across his chest, “I’ve been thinking...”

“Mmm?”

Rosalie sighed, “I think after all of this is over, provided I’m still here when things are done and settled—”

“Potter—” Severus started.

“—that I want to pursue Healing instead of becoming an Auror,” Rosalie continued, glancing up at him to assess his reaction.

“This is no great surprise, given the aptitude you have shown for it recently,” Severus replied evenly as his hands stroked her hair back over her shoulders and smoothed it down her back, “I was unaware this was meant to be a secret.”

Rosalie turned her head to rest against his chest, “It’s not, but it requires a NEWT in Potions. Which currently...”

“Ah,” Severus interrupted, comprehension dawning, “you have never lacked the skill, Rosalie, merely the motivation. You are more than capable of achieving the required grade, even with Slughorn as a teacher.”

“I thought, perhaps, you might tutor me, though? I realise I’d have to sit the NEWT independently at the Ministry if that were the case, but...?” Rosalie asked.

Severus inclined his head, “If you would like me to.” 

Rosalie smiled, “I can’t think of anyone better. The only reason I did as well as I did in Slughorn’s class last year was because I had help.”

“Horace’s particular brand of ‘preferential treatment’? No doubt you were simply too big of a temptation for him to pass up, celebrity that you are,” Severus grimaced.

Rosalie frowned at the implication.

“No, a book actually... I only found out at the last minute that I’d actually been accepted into the class and so I had to borrow a book from the supply cupboard as I hadn’t purchased my own copy of the text,” Rosalie explained, “Someone called the Half Blood Prince had made annotations throughout the whole text, I took a risk and followed his instructions and almost all my potions turned out better than either Malfoy or Hermione’s as a result. It drove her nuts. She thought I was cheating, but I just had better instructions.”

“Ahh, yes,” Severus chuckled, “I’d quite forgotten about that book. I knew, of course, the minute you hexed Draco in the bathroom that you had come into possession of it, but I’ll admit I had completely forgotten about it until just now.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalie asked, sitting upright in his lap again to stare down at him questioningly as his hands settled on her hips.

“Simple. I am the Half Blood Prince. The book you found was my old school text,” Severus told her with a smug smile.

“What?” Rosalie gasped, “Why didn’t you ever say anything before now? I was obsessed with that book all through sixth year! I can’t believe I never realised!”

Shocked delight bubbled through her, that all this time it had been Severus’s notes she been reading and his instructions she’d been following. Rosalie hadn’t believed there could be any way she could have felt closer to this man. Yet two people that she’d come to know and care for so well had just merged into one being and emotion overwhelmed her. She’d been half in love with the Prince throughout the most of the previous year, then Severus had come along and changed things and she’d left the Half Blood Prince—someone who was little more than a figment of her imagination—behind her. She’d been in love with Severus for longer than she’d ever realised... 

The thought made her breath catch in her throat. Then, gradually, a warm smile spread across her face and she leant back into him, taking his mouth with hers.

“What will you do once the war is over? Will you remain teaching?” she hummed happily.

His thumb ran the length of her jaw line, lifting her face into his again, kissing her softly. 

“I suppose, given the opportunity, I would like to set up my own potions business,” Severus told her, “teaching was never something I aspired to, but it was a necessity given the position I found myself in during the first war.”

“Would you take on a shop front in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade?” Rosalie murmured against his mouth.

“Unlikely,” Severus said as his hands slipped up under her camisole his fingertips tracing her spine, “I have enough contacts in the potions world to be able to run a specialty potions business via owl order. Running a shop front is time consuming and will take away from the time I can devote to research. There are a number of projects I haven’t been able to dedicate the time to which I could prepare for publication.”

“So you could set up anywhere?” Rosalie surmised as her fingers carded back into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands at the base of his head.

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, “A small town perhaps, somewhere private and secluded.”

“That sounds lovely. If I could live anywhere, I think I’d like to live by the ocean. Somewhere I can laze in the sun and fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore,” Rosalie smiled, “I’d let my skin turn golden-brown and my hair curly with the salt from the sea...”

“Mmm,” Severus agreed, scooping her hair off of her back and over her shoulder so that he could run the soft, thick tresses between his fingers. The scent of vanilla clung to the silken strands making warmth pool deep inside of him as he inhaled of it deeply. It wasn’t hard to imagine the smell of sea salt and fresh ocean air clinging to her. In fact, it was all too easy to picture quiet evenings spent lazing together in the cocoon of a hammock, swaying softly from side to side as the sound of waves crashing against the shore played softly in the background. It was an appealing dream. It made him realise that he could envision a future with her, that she featured in his dreams of what his life could be like if they both survived this war and, by no small miracle, he avoided Azkaban.

“I think I’d like somewhere I could grow my own flowers too,” Rosalie hummed, letting herself sink into his warmth.

“You will have your pick of properties to choose from,” Severus pointed out, “the Potter holdings are vast and plentiful, or so I have been led to believe.”

“I think I’d be happier living in a small cottage of my own. Something I can make a home out of,” Rosalie replied with a sigh, “I received a list of the Potter holdings I have access to for my birthday, but I haven’t really looked at it. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it all. Sell them off, perhaps? I’ll never have use for so many properties.”

“Don’t discount them so quickly, you might be surprised by what you find amongst them,” Severus counselled her, “Not all pureblood holdings are manor houses.”

Rosalie nodded, pressing her lips into the side of his neck, his jaw and lips again.

“You may one day have a family of your own to which you can pass on the legacy of your father’s family,” Severus continued, “Add to it if you will, but do not merely throw away such history.”

A swarm of butterflies took flight inside of her, “Perhaps.”

_A family. ___

__Rosalie pressed her forehead against his, emotion bubbling up inside her—overwhelming her—as almost against her will an image of what children of theirs might look like sprung into the forefront of her mind; Wide-eyed, dark-haired little things, as happy and wild as they were intelligent._ _

__Perhaps _she_ was letting herself get too deep. She wasn’t ready for children. But one day... One day she would be and she pictured Severus at her side when that time came._ _

__“ _Severus_...” Rosalie breathed. _ _

__‘ _I love you._ ’_ _

__Her whole body, her whole _being_ echoed with the words, but she couldn’t let them out though they were perched on her lips. Instead she kissed him as if her life were dependant on the meeting of their lips, pressing the sentiment she was not yet ready to articulate into his mouth—slowly—lingeringly—as his arms encircled her completely, pulling her flush against him so that she had to arch her back to remain kissing him._ _

__Her hands cradled his face. His pushed up under her camisole._ _

__Love was tingling throughout her body. She could feel it in the tightness in her chest all the way out to the electric feeling in her fingertips as they carded back into his hair. He groaned beneath her as her tongue pressed into his mouth, moving with a rhythm that pounded throughout her whole body, making her restless with need till she was rolling her hips into him in time with the rhythm of their breathless panting._ _

__Their lips parted only long enough for Severus to pull her camisole off over her head, her hair tumbling back down around them as her hands fell to his fly. Unclasping his pants, she pushed herself off of him so that her hands could join his as together they tugged his pants free of him._ _

__“Merlin,” She gasped against him, reaching between them for the cock lying thickly against his thigh, half hard and growing quickly. Her fingers curled around his girth. His hands boldly found purchase on her body, pushing her hair back off of her shoulders so he could palm her naked breasts as she reclaimed his mouth._ _

__“Rose,” breathed into her neck, his skin flushed with need as his fingers dipped below the waistband of her pyjama shorts, pushing them beyond the curve of her arse as fingertips ghosted over soft flesh teasingly._ _

__“Banish them,” she told him as nimble fingers slid down the close of his shirt, wandlessly loosing buttons so that she could push the shirt from his shoulders. The tingle of his magic lit across her skin as her bed shorts faded from existence leaving her bare against him, no barrier left between them._ _

__Rosalie sighed as she undulated her hips into his. Slowly. Torturously. The motion teasing them both with the wanton slide of flesh against flesh._ _

__“Do you want me?” she asked quietly, reaching past him, the soft of her arms grazing his shoulders as she grasped the headboard in both hands. Warm hands slid up the curve of her waste, to settle on her ribcage, the heel of his hand teasing the plush edge of her breast._ _

__His gaze felt like a physical caress against her soul as their eyes met, “More than is decent.”_ _

__“I want you,” Rosalie replied with a nod, “More than is decent.”_ _

__She let him enter her slowly despite the tension that hung thick between them—because of it. Sweat was beading on his forehead as Rosalie slowly started to rock into him, her hip starting up a gentle rhythm as they let the need between them grow, gaining pace and intensity till she was riding him at a gallop. His hands clasped about her hips, guiding her every move._ _

__“How could I not want you?” he told her, pulling her flush against his chest once more and taking her mouth with his._ _

__Rosalie caught her breath as he rolled her underneath him, her teeth catching her lower lip as he rocked into her without missing a beat, “Oh...yes! Keep going, keep going...”_ _

__Severus pushed into her with long solid thrusts, sweat soaking them both, trickling down his chest and navel as he hitched her leg up over his hip, opening her to his entry. Rosalie moaned, hands grappling at his broad neck and shoulders as the rhythmic brush of his pubic bone against hers slowly send her insane._ _

__“Rosalie,” Severus grunted against her neck they rolled in the bed, tangling themselves in the bed sheet._ _

__“I’m almost...Oh, _Severus_ —Merlin!”_ _

__Her whole body tensed as her release burst over her, stealing her breath as she contracted around him. Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging tight on the strands with need as he thrust through the tightening of her channel._ _

__“That’s it,” Severus gasped, fingers reaching down between them to rub purposefully at the hood of her clit sending out a second burst of pleasure so intense it bordered on painful._ _

__“Oh!”_ _

__Severus grunted as he released himself into her quivering depths and fell panting at her side._ _

__Rosalie felt weightless, suffused with warmth as she melted back into the mattress beside him, her limbs boneless and loose. The euphoric feeling of the afterglow was rich and heady and there was little she could do to prevent the lazy smile that crept in across her face or the satisfied little hum that escaped her. Light, happy, wonderful feelings were buzzing through her and for perhaps the first time in her life Rosalie knew that she was truly happy. This was a feeling people spent their whole lives pursuing and with good reason. She never wanted to leave this moment. Biting her lip, Rosalie rolled into his side, grateful for the arm he immediately looped around her as her head came to settle against his shoulder._ _

__The plush kisses that followed were slow and decadent. A shared exultation of closeness and connection._ _

__“I don’t want you to leave again,” Rosalie told him before she’d even realised the thought in her own mind. She pulled back from him so that she could tilt her head back to meet his gaze, her lips pressed together as she tried to seek the answer from his eyes._ _

__“I don’t particularly wish to return,” Severus replied, his fingertips brushing idly across her back, “Needs must dictates my return.”_ _

__Rosalie nodded, “I hate this war.”_ _

__“As we all do. Yet without it, I would never have been more to you than your potions professor,” Severus smirked._ _

__“I am thankful for what has come of our ‘forced closeness’, just not for the circumstances that led us to it,” Rosalie sighed, “Do you think, if Dumbledore hadn’t insisted on my learning Occlumency from you, we would have ever ended up here otherwise?”_ _

__Severus shook his head, “Unlikely. I am still amazed at my own spectacular lack of self restraint in allowing this to occur. This was never the inevitable outcome of Occlumency lessons. It should never have eventuated between us.”_ _

__Rosalie frowned, “But it has.”_ _

__“It has,” Severus agreed._ _

__“And we shared more than just our memories before you ever touched me...you don’t want us to stop, do you?” Rosalie pushed, knowing she had to get the words out even if they weren’t coming out the way she wanted them too, “Eventually people are going to find out about us... Unless that’s not what you—or perhaps this is this just ‘ _for now_ ’...”_ _

__Severus sighed, rolling onto his side so that they were face to face, “No, I don’t want this to stop. I doubt now whether I could bring an end to this even if I wanted to. My resolve is appallingly weak where you are concerned.”_ _

__“So you don’t care that people are going to find out about us?”_ _

__“I care that people will find out,” Severus informed her honestly, “People will judge me harshly for daring to touch you. They will judge me as unworthy due to my age, my nature, my looks, my position, my past affiliation to the Dark Lord and my present position as a spy. I care that I will have to defend myself against that. Especially when in some instances, I will agree with them that we are unsuited—”_ _

__“We’re not unsuited!” Rosalie huffed._ _

__“In some ways we are,” Severus pushed on, “In many ways we are not. I am loathed for people to find out about this because I am a private person and nothing about your life is private. Given time, once those that are close to you find out, the world will find out and I will then have to endure their scrutiny too.”_ _

__The euphoria from only minutes early felt like a distant memory as the gravity of what he was telling her came crashing down around her, “I thought you didn’t care what anyone thought of you. What does it matter what anyone else thinks?”_ _

__“It doesn’t,” Severus agreed, “But just because I don’t care what they think, doesn’t mean I welcome the onslaught of their judgement and anger.”_ _

__“It’s none of their business,” Rosalie hissed._ _

__Severus shook his head, “No. It’s not.”_ _

__Rosalie looked up at him lost, “So what does that mean then? You want me, but you don’t want anyone to find out...where does that leave us? What is this to you, because I need to know before I let myself slip too far into this? I’m not ashamed for people to know that we’re sleeping together. The only person I was afraid to tell was Ron, but now we’re barely even talking!”_ _

__Severus eyed her uncomfortably, “You must know that when it comes to this sort of thing I am quite _reserved_... I think we both know you are more to me than a mere distraction, though. Enough that I will weather the storm when it comes, so long as that is where you want me to be.”_ _

__“You weren’t reserved a couple of minutes ago,” Rosalie whispered staring up at him unblinkingly, “...am I’m your girlfriend, then?”_ _

__“For lack of a more appropriate term, I suppose you are,” Severus agreed._ _

__Rosalie smiled, a pink tint of happiness colouring her cheeks, “Good. Because if you had told me this was nothing more than a bit of release for you, I would have pursued you. Other than winning the war, this is the most important thing in my life right now and when I picture my life beyond the walls of Grimmauld Place in a world free of the Dark Lord’s influence, I picture you in it.”_ _


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I promise you I haven’t given up on this fic. I know where I want it to go, I know how it ends but getting there can be a challenge, especially the filler chapters. It fic hasn’t wanted to write itself lately and so I keep putting it to one side and trying to return to it with fresh eyes. I have about a hundred different drafts of this chapter saved in half written files on my computer; all of them were discarded for one reason or another. This was the lucky one that made it through, so I hope you like it...
> 
> I hope despite the long delay that some of you are still with me and I hope that you can pick up where we left off without too much trouble. Thank you to everyone who has continued to leave reviews on my work in the time that I have been absent. Each and every time I read one of them I am inspired to open a new word document and keep writing. Seriously. You don’t know how much it means to know that people are enjoying something I have worked so hard on. 
> 
> Also, just a reminder that my work is unbeta’d so apologise for any mistakes that I have overlooked on the rereads.
> 
> Enjoy  
> ~Quill
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

 

**Chapter Twenty Three**

 

 

 

Sunday passed with aching normalcy—for most of the day, anyway.

Severus spent the day ensconced within his lab, closing the door firmly behind him when the sun had only barely separated itself from the horizon. Rosalie had watched him go, suppressing her own need to follow him in just to be within his presence. Perhaps it was because they’d finally had a chance to _talk_ about their relationship, perhaps it was because she could now actually say that this thing between them _was_ a relationship, but the need to be with him was strong. So strong, in fact, that she’d felt bereft as the door swung shut behind him. She’d managed to restrain herself, just barely, knowing that if nothing else Severus needed this time to work uninterrupted. She knew he would not appreciate her hovering. They would have time together later that evening and that would be enough. She would content herself with that fact that he even made time for her despite the impossibilities of his schedule. It was enough that he wanted to spend time with her, that he’d sought her out Friday evening and stayed with her through the weekend.

Just thinking about it—about him, _them_ —made her feel lighter and oddly anxious all at once. She was at once anticipatory and excited and... happy. Ridiculously happy. She was unable to help the smile that stretched across her face as she mused on that thought, that Severus Snape of all people could make her feel like this? The irony wasn’t lost on her. From her most hated professor at Hogwarts to the everything he was to her now: mentor, friend, confidant and lover. It was true that impossible circumstances had lead them here and while she could never be thankful for this war or Voldemort’s blight upon them all, she could be thankful for the opportunity it had presented them—a silver lining in one very dark storm cloud that may yet still swallow them whole.

Still...she was in awe of them. In love with the reality of them and it felt perfect.

He had not retreated from her as the light of day had encroached upon them. She’d awoken in his arms, content that he wanted her there beside him. It was a heady feeling. She’d felt drunk with emotion, warm and soft. Severus too had seemed reluctant to get up, content to hold her as the sun crested the horizon and daylight slowly crept in around them.

She was still standing in the kitchen, lost in thought when Hermione found her.

“You look happy this morning,” Hermione greeted with a smile.

Rosalie nodded, “I slept well last night.”

The misdirection came almost too easily; she didn’t allow herself to feel bad about it though. Hermione had been supportive of her ‘crush’ on Severus and even seemed unperturbed by Severus’ apparent interest in her, but there was only so far Rosalie was willing to push her friend. Hermione had a long history of doing what she thought was right above all else—even above the bonds of friendship. However much Hermione seemed to trust her now and trust her judgement, Rosalie wasn’t certain that she wouldn’t turn around and spill the beans if she thought it was the right thing to do. Rosalie didn’t want to risk that. She didn’t want to risk falling out with her only other ally in this bloody house and she didn’t want to risk jeopardising her relationship with Severus when everything still felt so new. When the time was right Hermione would know and by then it wouldn’t matter if she approved or not.

“Well, that’s good,” Hermione said with a practical nod, “Are you training today?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Severus has other work to do today, so unless someone else shows up to take his place I thought we might try and make a start on the Little Hangleton research.”

Hermione nodded with satisfaction, “I was going to suggest we try and make a start on it. I briefly looked through the library yesterday to see if there was anything stashed in there that might reference the town or house. There were some old newspapers, but to be honest not much else. We might need to talk to the Headmaster about accessing the Ministry’s records.”

“I doubt the Ministry will simply hand over their records. I’ll talk to Dumbledore though,” Rosalie agreed, “I reckon if we can work out a basic floor plan of the house and a rough timeline of when Vol— _You-Know-Who_ — had access to the place then we might be able to work out what he’s done with the horcrux.”

“Since when do you say ‘You-Know-Who’?” Hermione frowned.

“Since You-Know-Who put a taboo on his name,” Rosalie informed her, “I didn’t even know such a thing was possible until Severus explained it to me...”

Hermione, though, was already nodding in understanding, “He did that during his first rise. You’ll have to be careful from now on. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to reinstate it to be honest.”

“I know,” Rosalie sighed, “I hate calling him that, though, ‘You-Know-Who’ is such a mouthful to say every time.”

“Why not refer to him as the Dark Lord then?” Hermione suggested.

Rosalie shrugged.

“I could, I suppose,” she agreed. She even did sometimes when she was talking to Severus about things, “I guess it just feels too respectful, somehow, like I am acknowledging his leadership or something.”

“Well whatever you want to call him, you’d best get used to it fast,” Hermione cautioned, “We’re not ready for you to face him yet.”

And wasn’t that the truth? No matter how hard she trained, any true confrontation that occurred with the Voldemort before they had destroyed each and every one of his horcruxes could only end to their detriment. She would either perish or Voldemort would become incorporeal once more—unable to be destroyed until he’d once again managed to inhabit a new body. Rosalie didn’t have the stamina to let this drag on like that, waiting and watching for maybe _years_ before they would have another chance to finally— _finally!_ —be rid of him.

“No. No we’re not,” Rosalie agreed with a grim nod, “Come on. Let’s go make a start.”

Together they made their way back up through the house to the library; Rosalie lost in thought as they climbed the stairs one after another. She let herself forget sometimes just how important this hunt to find and destroy Voldemort’s horcruxes was. More than just chasing the means that would make it possible to destroy him, they were systematically hunting down her only chance for survival. She was not immortal. If Voldemort cast the killing curse at her, she would die. No take backs or second chances.

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

She was not ready to die. Not now. Not when she suddenly had so much to live for.

The Library was cold, the pervading chill from the night before not yet chased away by the weak morning sun that was only now beginning to filter in through the library’s west facing windows. Residual droplets of a melted frost still clung to the outer edge of the glass pane in damp crescents, the tails of which crept up the edge of the window before disappearing into nothingness.

Rosalie shivered, her breath a barely-there mist as it puffed out in front of her.

“It’s freezing in here,” She murmured.

“It is rather,” Hermione agreed absently as she immediately crossed to the table that had become the centre point of their research over the last few weeks. Rosalie watched as she distractedly pushed the mass of her curly hair back from her face and took up a newspaper from the top of a small neat pile she’d stacked to one side. As always with Hermione, it was straight down to business.

Smiling, Rosalie aimed her wand at the hearth. Flames burst to life from the tip of her wand to ignite in the fireplace and she sighed at the rush of heat it brought them, moving to stand in front of it, “Is this everything then?”

There was a smattering of books and newspapers across the table, but the pile was woefully small.

“There wasn’t really much to find,” Hermione sighed, “It’s not something we’re going to find the answers to in books after all. Especially since the Riddle’s were muggles. I think the papers will be our best bet.”

Rosalie nodded as she moved to take up the stack of old newspapers. They were dated more than twenty years prior, during the height of Voldemort’s first reign. They looked well read, yet they were not yellowed with age. The text on the cover was as clear as the day it had been printed, black and bold: ‘Winchester Mourns: Dozens of Muggles Dead in Death Eater Strike’. She could still feel the tingle of residual magic coating the pages—preservation charms. It made Rosalie sick to think of someone in the Black family keeping them as mementos of a time when their family ideals had been enforced upon everyone by deadly means.

“The Dark Lord’s past wasn’t widely known before he became Vol— _You-Know-Who_ ,” Rosalie said, catching herself on the slip of his name just in time, “I’d wager most of his follower’s didn’t even know he was a half-blood. I mean, can you imagine a family like the Black’s stooping to the leadership of a half-blood? The house at Little Hangleton house was evidence of his muggle ancestry. It stands to reason he’d try to bury his past. Its possible that we may not find much of anything in wizarding publications.”

“The same thing occurred to me yesterday,” Hermione agreed with a brisk nod, “which is why I was thinking that what we really need is to access the _muggle_ records. Little Hangleton is a muggle town and the Riddles were a muggle family, right? So, it stands to reason that the best information we are going to find on the property will be from muggle resources.”

Rosalie looked at her friend, “how are we going to get access to muggle records?”

Hermione let out a frustrated breath, “If I had a computer I could email someone and simply request the information be sent to me, they may even keep their records electronically archived. Unfortunately, I don’t—have access to a computer, that is.”

“We definitely don’t have access to a computer. Not one that will work here at Grimmauld Place,” Rosalie agreed, “But perhaps we could write to them through the muggle post? In the meantime I think we should focus on piecing together the bits of information we do have. I can talk to Dumbledore about getting our hands on the Ministry’s records and there are also my own memories of the house; I’ll ask him if we can get access to a pensive so that we can study my memories.”

Hermione frowned, “Your memories? I didn’t think they ever took you into the house that night...”

“They didn’t,” Rosalie replied unperturbed, “but I had been dreaming about You-Know-Who hiding out there for months before the night of the graveyard. I saw things through Nagini’s eyes a lot of the time as she moved about the house. I saw Barty Crouch Junior and Wormtail. I saw him kill the caretaker there....”

Hermione shuddered and not for the first time thanked her lucky starts that she wasn’t cursed to carry the burdens that Rosalie was, “Well, it’s a start and while we work on that I suppose I might be able to try writing to the local council to request the information via mail, if nothing else. Dobby can post the letter for us.”

“I’ll send a message to Dumbledore now asking him if he can get us access to a pensive,” Rosalie said as she reached out to pinch one of Hermione’s quills and some parchment.

“What I don’t understand,” Hermione said slowly as Rosalie focused on writing out her letter, “Is why You-Know-Who didn’t stay at Little Hangleton instead of moving into the Malfoy’s place? If Little Hangleton is vacant, doesn’t it make more sense if he has hidden one of his horcruxes there, that he’d want to stay close to watch over it? Especially now that people know more of his history, he has no reason to hide the fact that his father was a muggle.”

“It’s a power thing, probably,” Rosalie said as she folded up her note and passed the quill back across the table to her friend, “Malfoy Manor is bigger and grander than his ancestral home. It’s also a wizarding manor home. To You-Know-Who power is everything, particularly around his followers. Taking over the Malfoy’s family home was likely a punishment and a reminder—once you pledge your allegiance to him, everything you are belongs to him. Your life belongs to him. So if he desires it, he need only take it from you and there is nothing you can do to stop him.”

Hermione let that thought sink in as Rosalie summoned Kreacher to her and asked him to deliver her message to the Headmaster. It should be disturbing how easily Rosalie seemed to understand the motives Voldemort had for such things, but Hermione supposed that was just a side effect of being linked to him the way that Rosalie was. She’d never really thought about what other side effects it had on her friend or how much it might influence Rosalie’s behaviour and thought process. Hermione’s gaze drifted up to the scar on Rosalie’s forehead. It lay flat and dormant, barely visible beneath the fall of her hair, but for a moment Hermione imagined that You-Know-Who was watching them through it—like an eyepiece through a door—and the hair on the back of her neck prickled with unease. What did they truly understand about this link between them? A connection so powerful that Rosalie had been forced to master Occlumency—a skill that normally took years to properly accomplish—in a matter of months to try and protect herself from his manipulation.

“Are you okay?” Rosalie asked her, her forehead creasing in concern.

Hermione smiled, “Yeah, I just don’t know how you manage sometimes, being linked to You-Know- Who the way you are.”

Rosalie sighed, “It’s not so bad anymore, now that he can’t send me dreams and visions.”

Hermione nodded like she understood. She didn’t. How could she?

“Anyway, hopefully Dumbledore will let us use his pensive or else has one which we can borrow,” Rosalie said before gesturing at the stack of newspapers in front of them, “I suppose we should go through all of these then, just in case.”

“I suppose we should,” Hermione nodded, sliding one of the papers off of the stack and grimacing down at the mayhem emblazoned on the front cover. Neither of them was relishing the task of having to read through the stack of papers on the table.

“It creeps me out that they kept these,” Rosalie said as she unfolded the first page.

“Same here,” Hermione agreed, “they’re like trophies or something.”

Rosalie nodded, “Like the house elf heads.”

“Don’t get me started,” Hermione groused flicking the cover of her paper open with more force that was strictly necessary.

Rosalie smirked unapologetically and turned her eyes back to the words on the page before her. Still smiling, she began to read.

 

 

*

 

Severus blinked once.

Twice.

His vision swam back into focus and he realised he was staring up at the ceiling of his potions laboratory, the one at Grimmauld Place. He frowned, his senses reaching out around him as he assessed the situation he found himself in. He was lying prostrated on the ground, his were robes askew and there was a horrid dryness coating the back of throat that told him he’d been lying there for some time.

His fingers curled around the glass ampoule that was resting in the palm of his hand. It was empty, but the silvery residue that collected in the base as he held it upright told him that it had not always been.

His truth serum, he realised immediately, as the horror of the hallucinations he’d endured began to come back to him.

_Naked, beaten and bloody, she hung from too-tight restraints, her head sagging forward limply, her dark hair hiding her face but doing little to hide the livid stain of her blood dripping down her abdomen—_

A success then, he realised, pushing the images from his mind abruptly. If nothing else the hallucinations the potion induced were impressive in their realism. He felt nauseous thinking about it—about her—like that. Broken and defeated.

_Tortured green eyes stared through him, her lips bloodied—_

The mix of confusion draught he’d utilized as the base had been just enough to baffle the intended victim into believing that what he saw to be the truth. Severus frowned as he pushed himself upright, clasping onto the corner of his workstation to help haul himself back to his feet as he assessed his own performance. He’d relied more heavily on his Occlumency shields that he cared to admit and yet, even now, he’d awoken more confused than he’d expected. Even with the antidote in his system, he could not say with certainty whether or not it would be enough for him to remain impartial should the Dark Lord, in actual fact, have been present to question him. Not with the distraction of ‘seeing’ his lover tortured before him every time he answered a question falsely.

He would need to adjust the dosage and enlist Albus’ help upon his return to Hogwarts to complete the final stages of testing. He was reasonably certain, though, that with a few adjustments he would be able to safely withstand the effects of the serum should the Dark Lord hold to form and test it on him first and foremost.

The Dark Lord would be inordinately pleased with the results. As well he should be.

Severus’ hand was shaking as he summoned his journal and began to make notes and adjustments to the recommended dosage. He would be ready the next time he was summoned. He had been under its effects once and he would know now what to expect. Next time he would ensure that Rosalie’s name never passed his lips while he was under the influence of his own potion.

And yet, seeing her like that...

_Another man’s hands against her skin, roughly pinning her against him as she cried out—_

Severus snarled as he forced the image down.

He’d been right to use the boggart residue. It had been a last minute addition, but as rare as it was and as expensive as it had been to acquire, it had added just the right amount of expertly focused fear to the hallucination. It had certainly been enough to make clear though difficult when his senses had been flooded with everything he had come to dread. He had known that he would see her; he had thought that foreknowledge of the fact would have been enough for him to remain impartial in the face of seeing her used against him, but the desire to divulge the truth in order to save her had been near overwhelming.

If not for his Occlumency shields, it was possible he may have done so...

Without choosing to acknowledge his own actions, Severus found himself closing his potions journal and making his way across the room, towards the door. The cool air of the kitchen hit him like a slap across the face as he exited his suddenly oppressive laboratory and he took a moment to try and compose himself before starting on again.

Sometime over the course of the last several hours the house had grown dark once more; the day been and gone behind the waft of potion fumes and a self-induced hallucinogenic state. It was the latter that had driven him from behind the closed door of his lab, his feet carrying him unerringly towards the library and the woman inside. He could not deny, even to himself, the deeply seated need within him to see her and know that she was indeed safe and unharmed. It mattered not that he knew the hallucinations he had seen to be false, assurances were needed to put his mind at ease and he followed that need with single-minded focus.

The library was cast in a dim light as he approached, long shadows leeching out to meld into the darkness of the hallway. Inside, though, he could see the flickering light from the fireplace dancing along the walls, making the room shine like a beacon in the darkness. Instinctively, Severus kept to the darkness, moving quickly down the hall hidden in shadows right up until the moment he was forced to part himself from their cover to cross the threshold of the room.

She was tucked up in an armchair close to the fire, her legs folded neatly beneath her as she studied the book in her hands.

Rosalie.

She shone golden in the firelight, whole, healthy and alive and Severus lent back against the wall behind him, the tightly coiled knot of tension inside of him beginning to unwind at the sight of her. She was studying the book in her hands closely, completely absorbed in its pages and wholly at ease with her surroundings. Severus the moment gifted to him to simply stare at her and wonder at his good fortune.

She was truly was magnificent.

Rosalie looked up at him from beneath the curtain of her dark hair, a hand rising to brush it back from her face absently as she smiled up at him in greeting, “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Her face was relaxed and welcoming, a soft smile playing about her mouth as Severus pushed off the wall to cross the short distance that separated them. Drifting towards her like some gravitational pull existed between them that he was as helpless against as he was the earth’s gravity.

She stood to greet him and Severus held his hand out to her, pulling her into his arms as he neared. Rosalie followed willingly, flowing into him to fit herself against him with a satisfying familiarity as she tilted her head back in a clear request. He lowered his lips to her obligingly, kissing her softly, lingeringly as his hands stroked in through her hair with a reverent tenderness that he’d rarely let himself feel.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, seemingly picking up on his mood simply by the way he’d held her.

Severus nodded, aware that he probably stunk of potion fumes but unwilling to let her go all the same, “I am fine.”

‘Now’ he thought but didn’t voice, ‘I am fine now.’

Rosalie eyed him closely, “You look tired.”

“It has been a long day,” Severus agreed, turning them so that he could perch against the arm of chair Rosalie had been sitting in. Rosalie went with him, moving to stand within the vee of his spread legs as his arms slid down her waist to settle on the swell of her hips. Rosalie smiled as she looked down at him, enjoying the height advantage this position gave her, “Where is your friend?”

“Hermione’s upstairs,” Rosalie replied, “I don’t know what she’s doing, but she will be down soon for dinner.”

Severus nodded but didn’t remove his hands, instead allowing them to slide down further until they were wrapped loosely about her thighs, holding her in close. Rosalie smiled and looped her arms about his neck, fingertips scratching lightly through his hair.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Rosalie asked after a moment or two, when neither of them did anything but hold one another.

“Yes.”

His hands tightened briefly on the back of her legs, squeezing reassuringly and Rosalie bent down to kiss him again. He complied readily as she cupped his faced and enticed his mouth open with hers. His mouth was soft and pliant, yielding to her direction as Rosalie darted her tongue out coaxingly, dipping into his mouth and drawing him back to her.

Rosalie moaned as she felt his hands slide back up to her hips, one slipping in under her t-shirt to stroke against her back as she nipped at his lips gently.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” she told him breathlessly as her lips recaptured his in direct contradiction of her words.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Severus agreed, his long fingers brushing back and forth against the dip of her spine. Neither of them parted, despite their words and Severus closed his eyes and relished the feel of her against him as her forehead came to rest against his, nose pressed alongside his and her wet lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

Rosalie sighed against him, rubbing her lips against his one last time before pulling back enough that there was a breath of space between them.

Almost compulsively she glanced across at the open doorway, relieved not to find Hermione standing there staring at them in shock, or anyone else for that matter.

“I needed that,” Severus told her gently, surprising her with his candour. He was not usually so open with his emotions outside of those times that they were intimate.

Rosalie smiled, pleased, “You’re welcome to it anytime.”

Severus smirked at her, “I am pleased to hear—”

Severus cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain, his left arm pulling away from her abruptly as he pulled his forearm in tight to his chest, “Damn it! He is calling.”

Rosalie nodded; her heart jumping at the unexpected interruption. She stumbled backwards as he pushed her away from him gently and stood preparing to leave, “Be careful?”

“I must go,” Severus replied absently already making his way to the door in long strides, “I need to hurry if I wish to take the antidote before I leave—both are still in the laboratory.”

Alarm lanced through her.

“The antidote—did you test it though?” Rosalie exclaimed suddenly as she trailed after him, “You can’t seriously be taking the serum to him now if you haven’t properly—”

“It’s been tested,” Severus replied abruptly.

“With who exactly?” Rosalie demanded.

“Do you not trust me?” Severus snapped back at her as he descended the stairs to the kitchen with ridiculous efficiency.

Rosalie thudded down after him, “With my life, but that hasn’t got a fucking thing to do with you taking stupid risks with _your_ life like—”

“What would you have me do? If you knew anything about what it is like to serve the Dark Lord, you would understand that arriving empty handed is not an option. He is expecting results,” Severus replied as he snatched up the potion vials from his workbench, uncorking the antidote and swallowing it down in a single gulp, “I am one of the foremost Potions Masters in the _world_ , Rosalie. If nothing else, trust that.”

Rosalie followed him out into the kitchen as he snatched up the floo powder, “ _Severus_...”

He paused, a fistful of floo powder gasped in his hand as he stared back at her, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting of the kitchen. Rosalie surged forward, slamming into him bodily as she pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him harshly, their lips mashed together almost painfully as her fingernails left crescent-shaped indents on the back of his neck, “ _Go_.”

Severus threw the floo powder into the flames, barely waiting for them to turn green before he’d stepped into the floo, “Malfoy Manor!”

He disappeared from sight with a roaring whoosh as the flames sucked him back up through the floo and Rosalie took in a gasping breath. The silence of the kitchen felt like it might swallow her whole as she turned and slumped down into a seat at the table.

“Is everything alright?”

Rosalie looked up as Hermione stepped tentatively into the kitchen, “Oh, Hermione. I didn’t realise you were there.”

“I wasn’t, until just now,” She replied, “I heard raised voices and...well, I came down to investigate.”

“Oh,” Rosalie offered blandly, “That was just Severus and I, we were arguing. He got called.”

“I see,” Hermione nodded, but her tone suggested that perhaps that wasn’t the case at all.

Rosalie forced herself to glance up at her friend and smile, “It’s nothing. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

“It’s okay. Are you sure everything is alright?” Hermione asked again as she took the seat opposite her friend.

“Everything is fine,” Rosalie nodded, “In fact, we should eat. It could be hours before Severus’ back and there’s not much point waiting.”

Hermione nodded in bemusement as Rosalie summoned two plates across from the bench where they’d sat under stasis charms for most of the day, left by Mrs. Weasley that morning for their evening meal. Rosalie smiled, “This looks great.”

Silence descended over them as Rosalie began to eat mechanically. Hermione stared at her at a loss not entirely sure what had happened to put her friend so out of sorts.

“I’m sure he’ll be back before you know it,” Hermione offered finally when the tension in the room got to be too much.

Rosalie paused, a brisk nod her only reply and continued eating.

 

*

 

It was nearing the early hours of the morning and still there was no sign of Severus returning. Grimmauld Place was dark and cold once more, dormant for the evening as Rosalie waited. Hermione had left her hours ago pleading off tired as she turned in for the evening, doing her best to try and coax Rosalie into turning in with her. Sleep seemed impossible though and the unease that had settled inside of her the minute Severus had disappeared through the floo had only built in the hours that he’d been gone.

More hours than she could count on one hand.

Hour and hours in which things could have gone horribly wrong.

Rosalie sat resolutely at the kitchen table, legs crossed on the seat, her knees aching from the cold and being bent for so long. She didn’t know how to cope with this, she thought as she pulled the blanket wrapped around her shoulders a little tighter and cast a warming charm over her tired body. It wasn’t the first time that Severus had been called, it likely wouldn’t be the last if things went according to plan, but for some reason, the inherent danger in Severus’ role seemed closer this time than anytime before.

Not for the first time that evening, she was sorely tempted by the thought of lowering her Occlumency shields in the hopes that she might be able to feel, even distantly, what Voldemort was feeling. She needed something to latch onto. She was in the dark—both literally and figuratively speaking—and the fear of the unknown was ripping her to shreds: Had the serum worked? Had the _antidote_? Had Severus’ true allegiances been made known? Was he in danger? Was he being tortured right now as Rosalie sat here and worried herself sick over him?

Rosalie let her head fall forward into the cradle of her hands.

He could be dead. Voldemort could have killed him hours ago and she’d have been none the wiser. He could already be gone and she could be waiting here for nothing.

Rosalie shook her head. No matter how desperate she was to know what was happening, she knew, no matter what, Severus would never forgive her for taking such a risk. It was essential that Voldemort remain ignorant to the things that she knew. She would be risking more than herself by letting him into her mind.

Still, she couldn’t deny that she was sorely tempted.

Rosalie startled as the sudden whoosh of flames burst outwards from the softly glowing embers of the fireplace. Her heart leapt to her throat at the abrupt flash of green flames and Rosalie scrambled to her feet, the blanket dropping away from her shoulders to pool beneath her as she stepped towards him.

Remus.

“Rosalie,” the werewolf greeted in surprise, his voice roughly grated as he stepped out of the floo, brushing errant flakes of ash from his shoulders as he glanced over at her curiously, “What on earth are you doing down here at this hour?”

“Remus,” Rosalie greeted, her feet frozen to the spot, halting her sudden surge towards the fireplace as she registered the presence of her godfather.

Not Severus.

Hot tears prickled in her eyes and Rosalie swallowed around them thickly, her face feeling tight.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” He asked her gently as he moved into the room, “It’s freezing down here.”

Rosalie dropped her gaze, moving back to her chair. She avoided his gaze as she stooped to pick up her dropped blanket, “No reason. I couldn’t sleep, is all. I wasn’t expecting you just now—you startled me.”

Remus’ hand was warm on her shoulder and she started under its unexpected weight, “Is everything alright, Rose?”

Rosalie nodded, not able to bring herself to lift her gaze from the blanket in her hands. The wool was rough underneath her fingers as she rubbed the coarse material between her hands. It felt nice. Soothing even.

“Rose, I know that...” Remus began gently as he urged her to face him with the hand still resting on her shoulder, “I know that things between us haven’t been all that easy recently. A lot of that is my fault, I was upset that you were hurting and that you wouldn’t lean on me the way I wanted you to. Perhaps you felt you couldn’t, I don’t know. Either way I reacted badly and for that I am sorry. I want you to know that I will always be here for you, though, even when I might not be around.”

Remus ducked his head down to try and catch her eyes with his own and reluctantly, Rosalie lifted her gaze to his. His eyes were warm and earnest and the heavy weight of his disappointment settled over her. The pointed barb of her own failure once again pierced her chest and she reached out to grasp the wrist of the hand still resting on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“I want to be someone that you can rely on. I want to be someone that you feel like you can confide in when things get rough—I’m sorry that I have made things difficult for you in that regard. I’ve had plenty of time away to think about the way I behaved and the way we left things... and I don’t want to regret not mending fences between us while we still had the chance.”

Rosalie nodded, hot tears spilling out of her eyes, “I’m sorry too. There are things that I can’t—I can’t tell anyone and—”

Remus pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her tightly as she clung to him, “It’s okay, Rose. You don’t need to explain. We’re going to be okay.”

Rosalie gripped him tighter, her fists white-knuckled as they twisted in the back of his robes. It was as if suddenly someone had opened the floodgates within her and all her hurt and fear was spilling out of her as her tears soaked the front of his robes. She clung to him as if her very life depended on it and through it all, he held her tightly, his head resting atop hers gently.

“Alright?” Remus said after long moments when Rosalie’s grip on him finally began to lessen and she stepped back from his embrace.

“Yes,” Rosalie assured him as she scrubbed a hand over her face, “I’ve made a mess of your robes, though.”

Rosalie shrugged carelessly, “I don’t care about my robes.”

“Where have you been all this time?” Rosalie asked finally.

“With the werewolves,” Remus told her, “I’ve been trying to monitor the likelihood of their involvement by gauging their support of the Dark Lord. So far many of them still choose to keep to themselves. Greyback and some of those that he has turned seem to be exceptions to the rule.”

“You’ve been living with them then?” Rosalie asked.

“On and off,” Remus hedged, “I have also been spending time with Nymphadora.”

“Tonks?” Rosalie asked in surprise, “Why would...are you and she...?”

Shockingly, Remus blushed, “Not as much as she would like, I’m sure; but yes, I suppose you might say that she and I are...somewhat involved.”

Rosalie frowned at his reluctance, “Somewhat involved? I’m not sure I understand.”

“I am a werewolf, Rose,” Remus explained gently, “there are implications that come with that. Werewolves are not well respected by our society. She has everything life has to offer ahead of her and a good career as an Auror. She does not deserve to be shunned by society simply because of her choice of associations and she will be if she chooses to be with me.”

“Don’t you think that’s her decision?” Rosalie asked pointedly, not envying the fight Tonks had ahead of her. Remus had lived with the bigotry of others dogging him for almost his entire life. It would no easy task to wear him down and accept that Tonks didn’t care what others would say about them. Society _would_ shun them, but there would be those among them that would accept them too and respect their right to live their life the way they wanted.

Remus chuckled, “You sound just like her.”

Rosalie smiled, wondering if she should be feeling guilty the little spike of excitement she felt when she realised that this relationship between Remus and Tonks could only help her own with Severus once Remus found out about them. There was thirteen years between Remus and Tonks, only seven less that the twenty that separated Severus and her...surely that would help their argument? The more that Tonks wore Remus down, the less he would have a leg to stand one when it came time to defend her own relationship to him down the track.

The fireplace flared again and her heart jumped as Severus stepped from out from the hearth, “Lupin.”

“Severus,” Remus returned cordially.

Rosalie felt relief punch her in the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs as she drunk in the sight of him, whole, alive, uninjured, “Severus, you’re back.”

His eyes flicked over her, shuttered in the presence of her godfather as he nodded once, “Indeed, I am.”

Remus looked back and forth between them, his expression curious as he turned his gaze to the blanket still clasped loosely in her hands.

“I would have thought you’d be at Hogwarts given the lateness of the hour,” Lupin offered after an awkward beat of silence, “breakfast will be starting in the Great Hall in just a few short hours.”

Severus gave him a flat stare, “What business is it of yours?”

“Oh, none at all,” Remus replied lightly, “I am merely attempting to make polite conversation.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Severus replied as he pulled his robes about himself, “If you’ll both excuse me.”

The need to follow him was strong. Instead she turned back to her godfather, “I guess we should both turn in, too.”

“You were sitting up for him, weren’t you?” Remus asked. His expression was neutral and calm. Rosalie could not sense no judgement from him, no recriminations or anger.

Rosalie bit her lip, “I was worried about him.”

Remus nodded a small smile playing about his face as they turned to the stairs together, “I truly don’t understand how you managed to get past all the snark and actually form a friendship with that man. He’s got more barbs on him than a porcupine.”

Rosalie smiled, “It didn’t happen overnight, but I think that every second of the hell we put each other through has been worth it to arrive on the other side.”

“I don’t doubt it, the things we work the hardest for in life are often the most rewarding,” Remus agreed.

Rosalie looked at him pointedly, “Maybe you should think about that the next time you’re about to shoot Tonks down.”

Remus chuckled, “Touché. I walked right into that one.”

Rosalie nodded, “I mean it, though. If she hasn’t backed down yet, maybe she’s worth holding on to. You deserve love in your life, Remus.”

“We’ll see,” He told her as they stopped outside the door of her room, “Goodnight, Rose.”

“Goodnight, Moony.”


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This work is still un-beta’d so any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I used this website as a resource this chapter: http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Subtle_laws_of_wands
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~Quill
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

 

**Chapter Twenty Four**

 

 

Rosalie was roused from sleep as she felt Severus shift beneath her and curled in tighter against his side. She was stiff from the cold, the thin woollen blanket she spread across them the night before not enough to keep the pervading chill of the night at bay as they’d slept. The cold had seeped deep into her bones and she moaned in discomfort as she turned her face into his shoulder wishing that she’d had the foresight to turn Severus right way up in the bed and pull the covers up over them before succumbing to sleep. She’d been exhausted though and despite the fact that barely a handful of minutes had elapsed between the time Severus had left her with Remus in the kitchen to when she’d bid her godfather goodnight on the stairs, he hadn’t stirred as she’d entered his room either. Stretched out diagonally across the mattress, he’d lain fully clothed atop of the sheets, only his shoes discarded carelessly at the bedside before he’d seemingly collapsed onto the bed. Not wanting to disturb his sleep, she’d taken the woollen blanket still clutched in her hands and spread it out over them as she curled up beside him.

“Rose?” he murmured deeply now as he felt her pressed against his back.

Rosalie hummed half-heartedly in response, not complaining as she felt Severus manoeuvring them both beneath the covers of the bed. The tingle of a warming charm settled over them as Rosalie pushed back into strong arms and a broad chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Severus murmured into her hair, his voice still rough with sleep.

Eyes closed, Rosalie ran her hand along his arm and threaded her fingers through his, “You were asleep.”

Severus sighed, “I’ll have to leave soon.”

“I know,” she agreed, a small smile lifting her lips at the brief tightening of his arm around her waist. His nose dipped into the curve of her neck, skimming lightly along the skin as he inhaled her scent groggily.

“Did it go okay? Last night with the Dark Lord?” she asked after a minute as her mind cleared enough to remember why Severus had been so tired the night before.

“It went fine,” Severus replied dismissively, his lips pressing into her neck, “I’d rather not bring the Dark Lord into our bed just now though.”

“Agreed,” Rosalie breathed into the darkness, turning fractionally in his embrace until she could twist her neck around so that her face met his comfortably. A large warm hand cupped her cheek as his lips met her in a slow, languid kiss. Lazy and inelegant, Rosalie sighed into him, granting him entry into her mouth as his tongue swiped against her lips before delving deeper.

In her somnolent state, relaxed and now warm, the hot embers of her arousal quickly began to smoulder and burn. His jaw was rough with stubble and it rasped along her face and her fingertips as they trailed his face, pulling him in closer.

“Lift up,” Severus murmured after several moments when he broke their kiss, his hand running down her stomach leadingly to push at her pants. This thumb hooked in the elastic waistband and Rosalie shifted her hips accommodatingly, helping scoot them down her legs until they were lost in the bedding at their feet.

Blunt teeth nipped at the curve were neck met shoulder as his hand slid back up her thigh, squeezing lingeringly at her hip as she pushed back into the cradle of his. Cool fingers dipped inwards to glide over her centre, his fingertips parting the damp folds teasingly.

“Severus...” Rosalie sighed as she reached up to pull his face back down to hers, her fingers tangling in his hair as he circled her clit persuasively.

They kissed languorously, needily and at length as Severus opened her to his touch, his fingers lost in wet heat as she rocked into his hand, her knees spread wide and her hips canting up with every thrust of his fingers.

“Bring your knee up to your chest,” He gasped finally when they could take no more, his lips a wet smear against hers and his breath coming in deep pants. Wet fingers reached for her upper knee, guiding it upwards as he moved up over her hip. A quick fumble had the clasp of his pants open and Rosalie moaned as the heat of his skin touched hers.

His lips pressed against the warm skin of her shoulder as he pressed into her with deep groan of deliverance.

“This is uncomfortable,” She said of her knee, “Can I—?”

Rosalie jostled herself around, hooked her leg back over his hip and leant back into him, her head falling into the cradle of his elbow as Severus propped his upper knee up to help hold it place, “Better?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes. You can move now.”

Severus rocked into her smoothly as his upper arm reached out to wrap around her body, sliding up beneath her shirt to bracket her ribcage and settle beneath her breast. Rosalie smiled her hand joined his and she entwined their fingers, turning her head back into him as he leant down to take her mouth. They had never been more tightly coiled about one another, Rosalie wholly encompassed within his embrace as he slid into her in slow measured thrusts, his hips ebbing and flowing rhythmically. She felt entirely under his power, wrapped tight in his embrace, restricted by his arms as he took control of the pace. She knew if she desired it she could break free at any moment, but it turned her on more than she fully understood to be held in place so—resting back in loving arms—as Severus took his pleasure from her and delivered hers.

Rosalie broke their kiss to keen softly as pleasure lit through her, a slow gentle glow of bliss building in her core and flushing out over her body as they moved in synchronous rhythm.

“Rose...” Severus gasped as his thrusts began to deepen.

“Yes,” Rosalie replied. She was nodding, her brow furrowed in concentration as her fingers left his to tunnel back into his hair, “Yes! _Please_...make me come...”

He was panting heavily as he drove into her again and again, his cock sliding in and out of her with ease as the obscene sounds of their pleasure filled the room—the wet sounds of him moving inside of her, the faint squeaking of his bedsprings as it protested under them...

Her hand left his hair and Severus groaned as he realised she was rubbing furious circles about her clit, helping herself along as she began to constrict around him in climax.

“Severus,” She panted needily, “ _Sev!_ Oh, _Merlin, yes!_ ”

The force of Severus’ thrusts increased then as he drove his length inside her only a couple more times before his release washed over him, making her breath catch and her mouth fall open as his final thrust sent of a shock wave of pleasure rippling out across her body in a minute version of what she’d just experienced.

Her skin felt dewy with sweat, her hair stuck uncomfortably to her face and neck as her heart pounded out a rapid staccato against her chest. Rosalie reached back for him again, her hand reaching around until she could cup his face. Snape let his fingers tangle with hers as she lifted her lips to feather across the underside of his. Obligingly, he turned his face down into her kiss, his lips rubbing gently over hers in a soft kiss before he curled their arms back around her waist and pulled her more firmly back into his chest. Carefully, Rosalie eased her leg back down off of his hip, whimpering as she felt his length slide out of her.

“That was amazing,” she breathed.

Rosalie’s eyes fluttered closed again as she felt Severus’ lips drop to her neck once more. He placed a tender kiss against the column of her throat and then she knew no more until she was awoken again by the muffled downpour of rain pinging against the window outside. The bed beside her was empty, the area Severus had occupied long since turned cold from his absence.

She was still naked from the waist down and Rosalie rolled over in the bed, a secretive smile playing about her face as she stared out at the drowned world beyond Severus’ window. Her hand splayed out along the mattress, running along worn-soft sheets as she recalled the events of that morning, the ghost of Severus touch still lingering on her skin.

Even waking up alone, the dark skies outside pregnant with rain and the threat of Voldemort lingering over their heads, she wasn’t sure that she could recall a happier Monday morning.

Rolling over to press her smile into the pillow, Rosalie laughed.

 

*

 

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Hermione admitted as she collapsed backwards, her breathing coming in laboured pants.

Rosalie extended a hand to help her up, smile grim. They were both sweating profusely, their outer robes abandoned across the couch despite the chill that clung to the air, “I told you it wouldn’t be easy. It took me over a year to make any headway with it.”

“Yes, but I thought some of that was because of the antagonism that used to exist between you and Professor Snape,” Hermione admitted, “I mean, I’m not expecting to be able to get it first go, I know that Occlumency usually takes years to master, but I thought that I would have more initial success! I read through all the theory, after all.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It has to come from more than simply knowing what to do. Basic theory doesn’t help—or at least, it didn’t for me.”

Hermione sighed in frustration, “Then how? What changed to allow you to start Occluding?”

“Meditation helped a lot,” Rosalie shrugged, “I found ‘clearing my mind’ to be the hardest part and the meditation helped me focus my thoughts. I thought ‘clearing my mind’ meant I had to think of nothing, which is impossible. The minute I tried to think of nothing, I was thinking of thinking nothing and whether thinking of thinking nothing was the same as thinking of nothing. I’d instantly become frustrated and from there Severus waltzed into my brain.”

“So what does it mean then?” Hermione asked.

“It’s not something I really know how to define. For me it means focusing my thoughts on my breathing. I focus all my attention on my breathing with an absolute single-mindedness that allows me to ‘clear my mind’,” Rosalie instructed carefully, “It’s not about having nothing in your mind, but more about clearing active thought. By focusing on simple repetitive instruction such as breathing in and out, I am allowing passive thought to filter by without allowing anything to take hold and direct my attention. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hermione nodded.

“Explaining that to Severus took time because I didn’t know myself what it was that I was doing wrong. Once I managed to adequately fumble out an explanation to the issues I was having we started having sessions where we would just sit together and meditate—only we called them ‘focus sessions’,” Rosalie smiled, remembering the nights they spent together sitting in silence barely a foot apart, both lost in their own minds, “Eventually, once I got good enough at allowing passive thought to take over, we began to work together on constructing the barriers that would become my shields.”

Hermione swiped a hand across her brow, “So the shield exists in the place between passive and active thought... That way, theoretically, a Legilimens only sees active thought once entering someone’s mind and you can control what they have access to.”

“Right.”

Hermione gave her an assessing glance, her head tilted to one side, “You know, you actually really good at this.”

“Occlumency? I’ve had to be,” Rosalie nodded.

“No, not Occlumency,” Hermione denied, “Well, you’re good at that too, but I meant teaching. I remember thinking the same thing back when you were teaching the DA defence.”

Rosalie shrugged, “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

Hermione nodded, “So should we be meditating then?”

“Is that where you think you’re failing? Clearing your mind?” Rosalie asked as she gestured for them both to take seat on the training room floor. She folded her legs beneath her, resting her hands over her knees.

“I think so,” Hermione agreed, imitating the position across from her friend.

“Meditation is harder than it looks too,” Rosalie said with a quick grin, “It can be difficult to remain focused solely on your breathing and not let your mind wander. It is important to remember that the breathing is your guide, though. Severus says some people count the measure of their breaths, two counts in, there counts out—whatever number works for you. In through your nose and out through your mouth in a steady pattern.”

Hermione nodded, following her lead and inhaling deeply through her nose, “He’s not going to be upset that you showed me this is he?”

“Forget about Severus,” Rosalie said dismissively, “Close your eyes, keeping your posture straight, but your body relaxed and think only of the flow of your breath. Inhaling and exhaling in a circular pattern.”

Rosalie closed her own eyes then, following her own instructions as together their breathing fell into synchronisation. Rosalie let the natural flow of her meditation wash over her and soon found herself drifting in a sea of abstract thought—‘passive thought’ as she’d labelled it with Hermione. She allowed herself to float there amongst the non-defined sea of thought for an undetermined amount of time before finally coming back to herself. When she opened her eyes once more Hermione’s were still shut, her face relaxed and serene.

Rosalie smiled with a sense of satisfaction, both determined and oddly grim as she watched Hermione take the first few halting steps of success that would one day lead her to becoming an accomplished Occlumens. It was a powerful moment, one that she could feel building inside of her—changing inside of her—twisting the smile on her face into something else altogether as it throbbed through her entire being, bursting outwards in a white hot pulse that was hot and curling as it leeched through her body. Rosalie inhaled sharply as its poisonous tentacles began stretching outwards flooding her with a sense of violent triumph that made her want to throw her head back and bare her teeth—

Rosalie gasped, rocking forwards so that her forehead smacked into her palm, “Merlin!”

“Rose?” Hermione gasped drowsily.

The sensation was fading, leaving her with a sick receding slide of filth as it drew back into her, disappearing into nothingness almost as quickly as it had come. Her head was pounding, her scar throbbing with every beat of her heart. Her palm was slick against her forehead, the trickle of hot blood unmistakable.

“Are you okay?!” Hermione asked as she placed a warm hand on Rosalie’s shoulder.

“That hasn’t happened since my birthday,” Rosalie whispered, still curled in on herself. She didn’t want to move her had away from her forehead. The pressure was both warm and comforting, like it might keep any further attacks at bay and just for a few minutes that was exactly what she needed.

“What hasn’t? Rose, what happened?”

Rosalie sat up again, holding her bloody palm out for her friend to see, “I’m not sure, but whatever it was it made Vold— _You-Know-Who_ pretty bloody happy. I could feel it. It just bubbled up inside of me like the emotion was mine and yet...not.”

“Were you shields down?” Hermione asked conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air to press against Rosalie’s bleeding scar, “Had you lowered them to meditate?”

Rosalie shook her head and then thought better of it when she felt like the motion had sent her brain rattling back and forward in her forehead, “No. I just... it was just one of those things that was strong enough for me to feel through the shields. Like at my birthday when he was so furious and my scar burst open and I almost fainted.”

Hermione pursed her lips speculatively, “I don’t understand how it’s possible for him to be able to reach you through the link when you’re Occluding. If your shields are capable of withstanding a direct attack from him, which I’m suggesting they are given that he hasn’t been able to send you dreams or access your mind in months, then how is it that he is able to project his heightened emotions on to you like this?”

Rosalie shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, the link is still there, I suppose. I’m just blocking it.”

Rosalie could see her friend’s mind working as she turned over the pieces of the puzzle that was the connection that Rosalie shared with Voldemort in her mind. Hermione’s eyes kept drifting back to the angry looking scar on Rosalie’s forehead from time to time, eyeing it thoughtfully.

“It’s odd, isn’t it? That the link is formed through your scar—”

The heralding _crack!_ of someone apparating into the house echoed down to them from beyond the training room door cutting Hermione off mid-sentence as they both swung around in the direction of the sound. Rosalie and Hermione shared a look.

“Who’s that?” Hermione whispered as they both climbed to their feet.

They were startled when two more followed, signifying the presence of thee additional people into the house.

“Potter?” a familiar voice called out to her from the lounge.

Rosalie relaxed, “It’s just Severus.”

“What’s he doing here mid-week?” Hermione asked, “It’s Wednesday, most Head of House’s have open office hours of a Wednesday night.”

“No idea,” Rosalie replied as they made their way over to the training room door. Severus was standing in the lounge, his back to their approach, as he talked in hushed tones to Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. The former looked up as they approached, something like relief lighting her features at the sight of them.

“Ah. Here they are,” Madame Pomfrey called as Rosalie and Hermione stepped out into the lounge.

“Potter,” Severus greeted briskly, “There is to be an Order meeting tonight, as soon as everyone has managed to gather—you’re bleeding, what happened?”

Rosalie pulled the sodden handkerchief away from her forehead, “Something happened tonight to make You-Know-Who happy—or triumphant, I guess. It filtered down the link.”

“You were Occluding?” Severus asked sharply.

Rosalie nodded, “I was. This was just...spill over.”

“Was there any associated vision?” He prompted his gaze intent.

“No. None,” Rosalie reassured him, “It was just like the night of my birthday. I got his feelings, that’s all—like they were my own and yet foreign at the same time.”

Severus nodded once, his eyes flicking over her furtively before leaving her form altogether.

“Let me see your head, Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said without preamble as she stepped forward to tilt Rosalie’s head back into the light, “It does look a might angry, doesn’t it? Very inflamed, but mostly settling now, I would say. There isn’t much I can do for a cursed scar unfortunately; it needs time to settle on its own. If it is still bothering you in an hour or two, though, try a basic healing charm and see if that helps.”

Rosalie nodded, “It’s doesn’t bother me too much once it’s like this. Like you said, it just takes a while to settle down once it’s aggravated.”

Hermione was frowning at her in thought again and Rosalie wondered what exactly was running through her friend’s head. She knew that look. It was a look that told her that the pieces of a puzzle were slowly coming together for Hermione to form some bigger picture; her friend was just trying to work out how they all fit.

“What’s going on?” Rosalie asked after a moment, when it seemed no further information would be forthcoming, “It can’t be a coincidence that a meeting’s been called the same night my scar acts up.”

“Indeed,” Severus nodded, “There has been an attack.”

“What?!” Hermione gasped, “Where?”

“Perhaps we ought to wait for Albus to arrive to go into the particulars, Miss Granger,” McGonagall offered primly, “Shall we to the kitchen?”

Rosalie shared another look with her best friend before hastening after their transfiguration professor.

“Rosalie, might I have a quick word before we join the others?” Madame Pomfrey called out to her before she’d taken two steps. Rosalie looked back at her in surprise but complied with a quick nod and gestured for Hermione to go on without her while she lingered behind.

“Yes?” Rosalie asked as she turned back to the mediwitch.

Madame Pomfrey eyed Severus’ retreating back shrewdly before turning her attention to the witch in front of her. Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up as the mediwitch cast a quick privacy spell over them.

“I thought I might take to opportunity to follow up on our last consultation,” the mediwitch said meaningfully as she glanced down at Rosalie’s midsection, “It’s near enough to five weeks on since I gave you the potion to clear out any unwanted pregnancy and I thought it prudent to take the time have a quick follow up scan to ensure the potion was indeed effective.”

Rosalie instantly felt colour flood her cheeks, “Oh! Of course...”

“Good, then. Shall we take this somewhere more private?” Madame Pomfrey offered, gesturing for Rosalie to precede her as they exited the room.

“I guess we can use my training room, for now,” Rosalie said as she led the mediwitch down the hall, discreetly trying to wipe her suddenly sweaty palms against her clothed legs.

The mediwitch smiled at her kindly as the door swung shut behind them, “Try not to be too worried, my dear, it is highly unlikely you will return a positive scan. This is merely a formality. We need to be certain.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and nodded, “Okay.”

“Are you ready then?” Madame Pomfrey asked as she raised her wand.

“Wait!” Rosalie gasped, “What’s going to happen?”

“I will cast the spell over your abdomen and if you are pregnant your stomach will glow green,” Madame Pomfrey explained patiently, “A negative result yields no effect.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay. Okay, do it.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded and raised her wand again, “ _Conceptus Repertum!_ ”

Rosalie’s eyes slammed shut tightly, unable to look down at what her fate might be, “Well?”

Her heart was lodged somewhere in her throat, pounding so strongly she thought she might vomit...

“It’s negative,” Madame Pomfrey assured her, “You are not pregnant.”

Rosalie let out a heavily sigh of relief as she allowed her eyes to pop open once more, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am completely certain,” Madame Pomfrey agreed with some relief, “Although, I might take this moment to remind you again how irresponsible it was for someone in your position to be having unprotected sex. I do hope you have spoken to the young man you are sharing your bed with about this and that you are both being more careful?”

Rosalie blushed beet red and wondered what Severus would think about being referred to as her ‘young man’, “Yes, Madame Pomfrey. I’ve been taking a contraceptive potion regularly since I saw you last.”

“It’s the very least I expect of you,” Madame Pomfrey nodded, “Now, come. We best make ourselves present at this meeting.”

Rosalie fell into step behind the mediwitch as they made their way out of the training room and down the narrow staircase to the basement kitchen, relief making her feel giddy and lightfooted. The sounds of voices filtered up to them as they approached and they entered into a room full of Weasleys: Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Fleur, Bill and...

Rosalie’s eyes immediately fell to the redhead quietly seated at the table.

Ron.

His burning blue eyes flicked up to clash with hers and she tried to offer him a small smile. It felt stiff and odd on her face though and, she was almost certain, looked more like a grimace than the smile she had intended.

“Hey,” She greeted with a small nod.

Ron held her gaze for a moment before his eyes slid past her shoulder and darkened. Rosalie didn’t have to glance behind her to know that Severus had moved to stand at her back, his presence called to her like a magnetic force. Ron looked away without returning her greeting and Rosalie was forced to swallow around the bitter taste of disappointment.

The gentle brush of a larger hand against the small of her back fortified her and Rosalie stepped further into the crowded kitchen.

“Is there something the matter?” Severus asked her surreptitiously.

Rosalie glanced at him, “Aside from the obvious you mean?”

“I was referring to your council with Madame Pomfrey,” he clarified, a small crease between his brows the only visible outward sign of his concern.

“Oh,” Rosalie replied, “No, nothing is the matter. Women’s stuff.”

Severus’ eyebrows lifted, “‘Women’s stuff’?”

Rosalie frowned at him a nodded, “Yes. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. I’d tell you if something was the matter.”

“I hope so,” Severus agreed, as they took a seat at the kitchen tabled.

More and more Order members began to trickle in and Rosalie glanced up as she felt Hermione slide into the vacant space to her right.

“Budge up there, would you?” one of the twins hollered down the table, “We’re going to need to fit a good lot more of us around this table before the night’s through.”

There was a round of shuffling and Rosalie was pushed down the table, the side of her body pressing in tight against Severus’ as they were all jostled to make more room. Somehow, she ended up sitting directly across from Ron’s dark glare.

“Is something the matter, Mr Weasley?” Severus intoned darkly.

Ron looked away.

In short order the room was full to bursting and Rosalie turned her attention to the head of the table as Albus stood to address the Order.

“My friends,” he greeted, his tone heavy, “It is my sad new to inform you that an attack took place tonight in a small wizarding village just outside of London. We were given no prior warning about this attack and alas, by the time many of us arrived it was too late and the town sustained much damage and loss of life. Our most esteemed wandmaker, Mr Ollivander’s home was situated in this village and his whereabouts are currently unknown. Though his body was not found at the scene, we have it on the authority of one of his neighbours he was in fact home that evening and his house bore signs of a struggle. It is likely he was taken by the Dark Lord. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks remain on scene investigating his subsequent disappearance.”

“What would You-Know-Who want with Ollivander?” Someone asked from the back of the room.

“His intentions are unclear,” Albus answered calmly, “If we are to believe at this stage that Garrick Ollivander has indeed been abducted by Tom Riddle, one can only assume his particular skill set is of use.”

“Because of the _Priori Incantatem_?” Rosalie asked quietly, “Because he has the brother wand to my wand?”

Albus looked at her steadily over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, “I believe so, yes.”

“ _Priori Incantatem_? Albus?” Arthur Weasley asked, leaning forward in his chair with concern etched across his face.

“Wandlore is a difficult subject to fully understand, but I shall do my best to explain,” Albus began, “Miss Potter’s wand and Tom Riddle’s share the same core, a phoenix feather gifted by the same phoenix. When this occurs—when two wands share the same core, taken from the same source—they are known as ‘brother’ wands. This in itself is not terribly uncommon, as you might have guessed, they are likely many pairs of brother wands in our world, but few so unerringly connected as Tom Riddle’s and our Miss Potter’s. Brother wands, as it turns out, cannot be forced to duel against one another and in such an instance that this occurs, a exceedingly rare phenomenon known as _Priori Incantatem_ can occur. Miss Potter and Tom Riddle achieved this phenomenon in Miss Potter’s fourth year when they faced off against one another in the graveyard of Little Hangleton after the Dark Lord’s rebirth.”

Rosalie could feel the weight of many eyes settling on her and she fought hard not to fidget under their stare.

“What does it mean, though?” Bill Weasley asked.

“Once a _Priori Incantatem_ connection has been made the wands become unpredictable when used against one another. In a duel, it would be almost impossible to predict how two such wands would react to the presence of one another’s magic. It is possible that Tom is taking steps to furnish himself with a more suitable wand with which to face off against Miss Potter.”

“Should we be doing the same?” Severus pointed out, “It seems foolhardy to leave Potter ill-equipped with a wand that could prove unreliable in such a crucial moment.”

“Perhaps,” Albus agreed inclining his head, “The wand, however, chooses the wizard. There is no guarantee that we could find another such wand for Miss Potter to use in the time we have remaining to us. Until now, there had been no indication that Tom Riddle had been searching for a new wand—indeed, it seemed to give him no trouble when they met briefly the very next year in the Ministry of Magic.”

“I think we should be trying, Albus,” Minerva agreed.

“Does it even matter anymore? If You-Know-Who’s getting himself a new wand?” Ron asked suddenly.

“We cannot know for sure that is his intention,” Severus hissed, “He gave no warning prior to this attack, no hint that he desired Ollivander in anyway—for all we know the wandmaker is dead. This is not something that should be left to chance.”

“Well isn’t it your job to find out?” Ron glared back.

“ _Ron_ , that’s enough,” Arthur snapped more sternly that Rosalie had ever heard him speak. Ron glared mutinously at his parents, but mercifully fell silent.

Severus sneered at her friend from across the table, “Indeed, Mr. Weasley, I’ll just go question him now, shall I?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Albus intervened, “If you could refrain from antagonising one another for just a moment or two longer. I understand that this has been a long day for many of us and I thank each and every one of you for everything you do for this Order and our cause. However, in light of Mr Ollivander’s disappearance, I feel it might also be prudent to keep a close eye on his rival, Mr. Gregorovitch. Should Tom indeed be in the market for a new wand as we suspect and Mr. Ollivander is unable or unwilling to fulfil the request, I hazard a guess he will be the next in line to go missing.”

“We can look into it,” Bill offered with a quick look to his wife, “We were thinking of making a quick trip back to France to visit Fleur’s parents, anyway—we’ll extend the visit if need be and make contact. Did you want us to bring him in?”

“I very much doubt you could convince him to come, but perhaps, if nothing else, we can employ his services for Miss Potter?” Albus offered, “at the very least we can warn him of what is likely to befall him should Ollivander in anyway fail. Forewarned is forearmed they say.”

Bill nodded his head, “We’ll see that he gets the message.”

“Good. In that case I thank you all for taking the time to come,” Albus glanced around the room, “Unless there are any further issues anyone would like to discuss this evening?”

A general mumble to the negative flowed about the room and the meeting soon after dispersed as people left and other’s regrouped in smaller groups about the kitchen.

“Professor?” Rosalie called as people began to filter out of the room. Albus looked up at her with a faint smile, “Could I speak to you for a moment, sir?”

“Of course, my dear,” He replied readily as he gestured for her to precede him into Severus’ laboratory, “I’m sure Severus won’t begrudge us the use of his space momentarily.”

As the door swung shut behind them, the noise from the dispersing crowd instantly muffled and Rosalie followed dutifully as Albus lead them over to the two stools Severus had tucked away beneath the ledge of his bench.

“Take a seat, my dear,” Albus offered as he pulled himself up to perch on one of the stools, “What can I do for you?”

“Well actually, sir,” Rosalie began as she climbed up onto her seat, “What I really wanted to talk to you about was what I can, or _could_ , be doing for you. It’s just, we’ve made next to no progress on the research into Little Hangleton you assigned us; mostly because we have nothing to work from—at least not until we have the file from the Ministry or you are able to get us that pensive we asked for...?”

“Ah, I see. Perhaps I ought to give you this, then,” Albus replied calmly as he withdrew a small shrunken down dish from within his robes. It made a heavy clunk as he rest it down on the stone bench top and withdrew his wand so that he might return it to its original size. It was far less elaborate than the pensive she’d seen in his office, this was a simple stone basin with crude runic cravings etched around the rim, but as long as it served its purpose it could have polka dots for all she cared, “The information you requested from the Ministry, however, will be somewhat harder to achieve as such a file simply does not exist.”

“Doesn’t exist? How can that be?” Rosalie asked in surprise, “Surely they looked into the Riddle’s murders?”

Albus nodded, “They did, but perhaps not as thoroughly as they should have. Morfin Gaunt, who we now know that the Dark Lord framed for the murders of his remaining muggle family, had a history of using magic against muggles—including previously filed charges of magic use against members of the Riddle family. If this was not already compelling ‘evidence’ enough, his memories were modified sufficiently enough that he confessed to the killings... Very little investigating was done. On the surface it was an open/shut case. No one thought to look deeper, it would seem.”

“So what you are saying is that there is nothing of use in the case file?” Rosalie sighed, “I feel like every minute I spend here trying to ‘research this’ and ‘research that’ is just pointless. I’m achieving nothing. There are people in the Order who are more equipped to be looking into this for you than we are—people who can go out and follow up on facts. We’re stuck here, sir—and it’s for a good reason, I know—but we’ve been over and over everything available to us and there is nothing here.”

Albus gave her a kindly stare over the rim of his glasses, “I do not expect miracles from you, Rosalie. I realise that your confinement here has made progress difficult; however, the most important thing at the moment is that you are kept safe. That being said, you should know what I very much value the time and effort you and your friends have devoted to this, despite the obvious setbacks that you face. There are few people who I would risk trusting this information to and fewer still that have the time as you do to look into it; if you would prefer not to be doing so, however, I will understand.”

“No, it’s not that, sir. I just—” Rosalie rubbed a hand over her face, flinching back slightly as her fingertips inadvertently brushed against her inflamed scar, “I want to be useful. I want to do my part in all of this. Part of me wonders though why you’re entrusting such an important job to a couple of teenagers who don’t have the means or the resources to properly follow things up.”

“I trust this to you because you have proven to me, time and again, that you are up to the challenge,” Albus told her seriously, “Had I more hours in the day I would take this task upon myself, but alas there is only so much I’m able to accommodate at any one given time. You have made good progress already or had you forgotten? It was you and your friends that found Slytherin’s Locket, you who directed us to Narcissa Malfoy as means of acquiring it.”

Rosalie nodded, “this just feels bigger—or perhaps, less defined? With the locket we had clues that lead us down the right path. This just feels open ended and vague.”

“Would it help if I clarified the need for the information I have requested you search for?” Albus offered easily, “I could simply apparate out to the house and waltz in on chance, but we will only have one opportunity to cross the threshold of the wards at Little Hangleton and acquire the cup, should it indeed be there as I believe it to be. Once Tom is alerted to our presence he will send Death Eaters to meet us, of that I have no doubt. Should we leave the property empty handed for any reason, we will not get another chance to return before the cup is moved to a more secure location beyond our reach. Our hand will have been tipped and Tom will know why it is that we have come—the cup will then be beyond our reach. It is essential that we know what we are walking into so that the most amount of space is covered in the least about of time.”

Rosalie nodded, “I hadn’t thought of that. I kind of thought...well, I kind of thought you wanted us looking for hidey holes he might have stashed something.”

“No, nothing so specific,” Albus said with a small shake of his head.

“But even if we get the cup,” Rosalie pointed out after a moment as she rolled Dumbledore’s words around in her head, “Won’t he still be alerted to the fact that his horcrux is missing and know that we’re onto him?”

“By then, my dear, we will have the cup and it will hardly matter,” Albus told her with a smile.

“What do you mean?” Rosalie asked, “There are still three that we’ll need to find even after we have the cup. If he knows we know, then he can move them. Protect them.”

“Indeed. I have reason to believe that Ravenclaw’s diadem is hidden at Hogwarts, however, which is safely beyond Tom’s power,” Albus informed her steadily, “The remaining two after that likewise cannot be easily tampered with or hidden. Once we acquire the Hufflepuff cup; I will have accounted for the whereabouts of all seven horcruxes and it will be too late for Tom to countermove against us.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped open, “All seven? You know what they all are?”

“I do,” Albus replied, a strangely poignant look coming over his face.

“What are they? Where are they?” Rosalie gasped in excitement.

“When the time is right, I will tell you, my dear,” Albus offered reaching a hand out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly as he asked for her patience, “For now, I ask that you trust me when I say that I have the situation well in hand.”

 

*

 

Still engaged in conversation, Severus eyes tracked Rosalie discreetly as Albus lead her out of his potions lab. She appeared lost in thought, barely sparing Granger a second glance as the bushy-haired brain rushed her, taking Rosalie up by the elbow and steering her from the room without so much as a by your leave to the people that remained. It irked him more than he cared to admit to have her whisked away from him so readily, even more so that something like that should even bother him in the first place. How times had changed him. He had not felt this protective—or dare he admit it _jealous_ —over someone since he’d been friends with her mother and James Potter had barged in and ruined everything.

“Drink, Snape?”

Severus looked down at the proffered drink, then to the Weasley—Bill—holding it out to him and thought about declining. No matter how much he’d changed, the last thing he wanted to be doing was socialising with Weasleys, even ones of Bill’s calibre. Technicalities aside, however, he was sleeping with the woman the man likely considered an honorary sister and so his sense of self preservation reared its head and Severus found himself reaching out to accept the beverage.

“Thank you,” Severus replied with a small incline of his head as long fingers curled around cool glass, “What can I do for you, Weasley?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really,” Bill replied easily, “Just thought you could do with a drink while Mum’s cooking dinner. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” He lied easily as he took a long sip of amber fluid.

“Oh,” Bill nodded unperturbed, “I just assumed when you didn’t dash off like you normally do that you were staying.”

Severus hummed, his gaze focused on the liquid in his glass as he swirled it around the walls of the tumbler. The eldest Weasley seemed untroubled by his disinterest, however, and after a moment’s pause continued, “So how’re things going with Rosalie?”

The question startled him. Severus felt himself visibly hesitating and cursed internally at his fumble, “Potter? Why do you ask?”

“You’re training her,” Bill frowned in confusion, “Aren’t you?”

“When time permits,” Severus nodded regaining his equilibrium, “Her skill is progressing satisfactorily.”

Bill nodded like he agreed, “I’m kind of amazed at how powerful she truly is, to be honest. She told me last time I was here that she’s been learning healing spells straight out of a book—and _succeeding_ with them.”

“So she tells me,” Severus agreed.

“Unheard of! It’s a wonder that she doesn’t realise how truly gifted she is. I used to think she wouldn’t be able to handle all this, you know?” Bill continued, his voice taking on an incredulous air, “I didn’t believe Albus when he insisted she would be the one to bring an end to You-Know-Who, despite what happened when she was a baby, but I believe it now. Whether she knows it or not, I’d say she’s quite possibly one of the most powerful witches in the world right now.”

“It is a distinct possibility,” Severus agreed, wondering where this conversation was leading and why Bill Weasley had thought that he of all people would want to talk about Rosalie Potter. Not that he truly minded, of course, but more the worry was that Bill believed her to be a topic of _common ground_. Perhaps he’d already showed his hand more than he knew. Perhaps when it came time and people found out about their relationship, the news would hardly be a shock anymore.

Severus smirked.

Doubtful.

He looked up as he noted Rosalie sweeping back into the room, Granger, as always, close on her heels.

Turning back to Bill Weasley and his seemingly unending small talk, he realised with some pleasure that he would enjoy, if only for a moment, the shock that would ripple through this man when he realised the true nature of his relationship with Rosalie Potter. It was a thought that he knew Rosalie would not appreciate, but a part of him relished it all the same. Perhaps he was not so very changed after all. Fundamentally, he was still an arsehole, a notion that would bring him no small measure of comfort when he was tolerating being assaulted with Weasleys one day.

“Hey, Bill!” Rosalie greeted the eldest Wealsey with a smile as she sidled over to them, “How are you?”

“Good thanks, Rosalie,” Bill returned easily, pulling Severus’ lover into a warm hug, “We were just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” she chuckled, glancing between the two of them with light-hearted suspicion.

Severus hummed noncommittally into his drink and Rosalie punched him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

Bill winced dramatically, “You’re a brave woman, Potter, punching Snape like that. I’m not sure I’d have the balls.”

Severus rolled his eyes, “This conversation is appalling.”

Rosalie smirked at him, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”

Severus nodded once glancing up at Bill, “If you’ll excuse us, Weasley.”

“By all means,” Bill replied as Rosalie led him across the room towards his Potions laboratory.

As the door swung shut behind them Severus felt the tension in his shoulders lessen, the noise of the Order instantly muted to a muffled rumble of voices beyond the closed door.

“Hermione and I have some work coming up that requires the use of a pensive,” Rosalie told him as she led him over to the stone basin that now sat atop his workbench, “Dumbledore was able to get us one, but it’s still raw. I was hoping you could brew the base potion for it? Hermione offered, of course, but we need it to be perfect since we need it to help boost clarity and detail.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, his fingers reaching out to trace over the pensive’s rune work, “Dare I ask what on earth you might need a pensive for?”

“We need to go back and review some of the dreams—well, visions actually—that I was having of Vol— _You-know-Who_ in fourth year,” Rosalie replied as she pulled herself back up onto the stool that she’d occupied not even half an hour earlier.

Severus nodded as he moved behind his work bench and summoned a fresh cauldron from the shelf to set over a flame, “It is a relatively simple potion. It shouldn’t take long to make.”

“Thank you.”

Rosalie watched as sure hands summoned fresh rosemary and three pansy buds into a mortar and pestled and began pulverising them into a sticky paste. His movements were quick and sure, his hands used to moving in such a manner and Rosalie smiled as she contemplated how truly accomplished he was. _One of the foremost potion masters in the world_ , her brain supplied for her as the hiss of cold water hitting the heated base of the cauldron sizzled around them.

“Is that it?” She asked incredulously, “Just rosemary, pansies and water?”

Severus looked up at her from under a lifted eyebrow, “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, what is the key ingredient in most memory and truth potions?” Severus quizzed her as he scraped the paste into the now simmering water and began stirring the concoction in unhurried strokes.

“Jobberknoll feathers,” Rosalie answered, surprised that she actually knew the answer.

“Correct,” Severus nodded, “Therefore, the answer to your question would be ‘no’. It is not just rosemary, pansies and water; but it is not much more than that either.”

Rosalie smirked, “I knew it.”

Severus nodded, “The base will need to simmer over night and then be allowed to cool completely. It will settle into an iridescent mauve which you can then use to coat the pensive. Once the potion has been completely absorbed by the stone, the pensive will be ready for use.”

“Rosalie? Professor Snape?” a voice called from the doorway as Hermione’s head peered in at them, “What are you doing in here?”

“Making the base for the pensive,” Rosalie replied easily, glancing back over her shoulder at her friend.

“Oh,” Hermione responded, her tone somewhat taken aback, “That was certainly efficient. Anyway, I was sent to retrieve you both for dinner.”

“We will be with you presently,” Severus assured her as she nodded and closed the door behind her again. He added the Jobberknoll feather to a flash of blue smoke and looked up at Rosalie seated across from him, “This illness you have. It is not something that I have contributed to, is it? We have not been too rough—”

“I’m not injured or unwell, Severus,” Rosalie told him again, “I am completely, one hundred percent healthy. Madame Pomfrey just wanted to do a follow up scan on me after one of our appointments from a few weeks ago. You know, to rule out any lingering effects I might have been experiencing...”

“You mean from the night at the cave?” Severus queried.

Rosalie bit her lip.

“Yes,” she lied, “From the night at the cave.”

The blatant lie settled uncomfortably inside her and Rosalie dropped her gaze. She could feel the misdirection burning in her cheeks and didn’t want Severus to read the truth of things from her eyes. Somehow, though, it still felt too personal to share with him and if she was honest—and with herself, at least, she could be—she was afraid of the issues it might raise once more. Morally, Severus had been pushed far enough in terms of their relationship, he didn’t need to know that he might have sired a child upon her those first few time. The fact was the he hadn’t though, and it was not as if she was hiding a miscarriage or abortion from him, because as far as Madame Pomfrey or anyone else would have been able tell she’d never been pregnant.

Severus nodded, “And is there? Any lingering effects, that is?”

“No,” she told him honestly from beneath the cover of her lie, “I have a clean bill of health.”

Severus nodded again, “You could have told me this.”

Rosalie sighed and skirted his gaze, “I didn’t remember until today that she wanted to do a follow up. I’m sorry.”

“It is of no matter, as long as you are well,” Severus told her, setting the potion on low to simmer and casting a basic protection charm over the cauldron, “Come. I believe yourself appointed mother has dinner ready for us.”

Sliding off of the stool Rosalie walked with him to the door, the burden of the lie weighting her steps. It was for the best. Severus would never know the truth of things and everything would be fine.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** It's been forever, I know! Sorry!
> 
> This is completely unbeta'd - sorry for any mistakes! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twenty Five**

 

 

~ _The caretaker let himself in through the back door noiselessly and stepped into the cavernous kitchen of the derelict manor. It was dark, but memory lead him to where the door to the hall was and he groped his way blindly towards it, his deaf ears straining for the telltale sound of intruders as he fumbled through the darkness. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick._

_On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: at the very end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond..._  ~ [1]

Rosalie jolted awake with gasp, her heart beating rapidly in her chest and her fingers knotted tightly in the bedcovers as the ominous green flash of the killing curse faded from the reflection of her eyes. Rosalie shivered despite herself and rubbed a hand over her sweat dampened face. She’d watched Frank die in her dreams every night for the past week, stirred back up into the forefront of her mind by her foray into the past with the pensive Dumbledore had gifted them. It would have been a small price to pay, perhaps, should they have come across something of use. Yet no matter how many times either she or Hermione walked through the passageways of the house as Frank slowly ambled to his death, they had seen little of anything that they would be able to work with. The only thing they’d achieved was a week of her nightmares returning with a vengeance, so that she was once more existing on little to no sleep.

 

Perhaps it was time they explored other options, Rosalie thought as she pushed herself up to sit against the headboard, her knees bent up in front of her as she peered into the darkness. Hermione had made no secret of the fact she believed they’d have more success looking into muggle records and Rosalie was finally ready to admit that she was right. Of course she was. That had never been in doubt. Rosalie had known from the very beginning that this journey down memory lane would bring them nothing but the ability to honestly say that they’d exhausted all other options before they went against direct orders and put themselves into the path of ‘danger’ by venturing out into the Muggle world.

 

Her reluctance had had nothing to do with fears for their safety. She highly doubted Voldemort was lying in wait in a muggle library, waiting for her to show up and run a computer search on his father’s ancestral home. It made the decision to go that much easier, it was just... the disappointment that she knew they would face should Dumbledore—or more to the point, _Severus_ —find out what they’d done.

 

Was this an unnecessary risk though?

 

Rosalie didn’t think so. So long as they were careful about not being seen and minimising their use of magic, there was no reason for anyone to be looking for her at the library Hermione had frequented during the summer months that she was home. They would avoid her family home to be on the safe side, but even Voldemort didn’t have the resources to be standing watch outside of a muggle home that had been deserted for months.

 

The details were coming together easily in her mind and by the time the sun was beginning to lighten the sky outside she’d formed a rough plan of what needed to be done. Rosalie rose from her bed, showering and dressing methodically in warm comfortable clothes that would blend in easily: jeans, knee high boots, her most comfortable jumper and grey pea coat that was warm but still allowed her to move freely. Brushing her long hair back from her face she whipped it up into a messy bun atop her head and glanced appraisingly at herself in the mirror.

 

With a nod, Rosalie made her way out of the room and down the hall to Hermione’s room, she knocked twice on the door, unsurprised when it swung almost immediately. Her friend was awake, but still in bed, hair mussed and her face drawn.

 

“Morning,” Hermione offered, a yawn cracking her jaw loudly midspeech. She too had dark circles beneath her eyes and Rosalie immediately felt guilty for having subjected her friend to the reality of the things she witnessed in her nightmares for as long as she had.

 

“You should get dressed,” Rosalie urged as her friend slipped from beneath the covers of her bed and stretched stiff sleep deprived muscles, “We’re making the trip to the library.”

 

“Oh?” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “What made you change your mind?”

 

Rosalie sighed, “We both knew it was always going to come down to this...You were right from the beginning. I’m sorry for dragging things out so long and making you watch that horrible memory again and again... I just, didn’t want to disappoint the people who’ve been looking out for us.”

 

Hermione gave her an arch look, “You mean Snape.”

 

“And Dumbledore,” Rosalie added, almost defensively.

 

Hermione smiled, “but mostly Snape...”

 

Rosalie shrugged, “I guess so. Yes.”

 

“Well if we’re quick—and there is no reason we shouldn’t be since the information shouldn’t be all that hard to find once I have access to one of their computers—then he’ll never need to know,” Hermione replied as she summoned her clothing from her trunk, dressing quickly.

 

Rosalie chuckled lightly, “Usually it’s me breaking the rules and you’re the voice of caution, this feels backwards somehow.”

 

Hermione shot her a quick smile, but even as she’d said it Rosalie considered the fact that such a statement wasn’t entirely true. Hermione had never let the rules get in the way of her pursuit of knowledge or the truth. Hermione was a Gryffindor for a reason and Rosalie of all people knew that when the situation called for it, Hermione was often willing to bend the rules to suit her needs.

 

Hermione nodded, “You should bring your invisibility cloak; we can apparate under it.”

 

Rosalie nodded, “It’s already in my bag.”

 

The rest of the morning crawled by with aching slowness. Mrs. Weasley was late arriving with breakfast and then seemed inclined to linger afterwards so that she might chat with them over trivialities she’d read in the Prophet that morning. Rosalie barely contained her sigh of frustration until, glancing at the time, Molly made a small exclamation of surprise and taken her leave. By then, it was gone 10:30am before they were in a position to leave and Rosalie was impatient to make a move, “You ready?”

 

Hermione nodded, “A little nervous.”

 

Rosalie smiled, “Me too. We’ll be fine, though, we just needed to stick together.”

 

Hermione nodded again and Rosalie spun her invisibility cloak up and over them. It landed heavy on their shoulders with a whoosh of displaced air and immediately pulled tight over their backs as Rosalie attempted to pull it shut. Hermione snickered as they stumbled against one another as Rosalie tried to fit them both under the cloak.

 

“I’m not sure it still fits both of us,” Rosalie laughed. They were a lot larger than the last time they’d tried to fit more than once person under the cloak and they couldn’t help but giggle as they stepped in close, pressed up against one another awkwardly as they sought to make sure they were completely covered.

 

“Maybe we should disillusion ourselves,” Hermione suggested with a smile, her arms wrapped tightly around her friend to accommodate the stretched material.

 

“No it’s okay. I think I’ve got it,” Rosalie laughed, “We’ll just have to take it off once we’ve apparated.”

 

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, “Ready?”

 

Rosalie nodded, “Ready.”

 

Rosalie shut her eyes against the sucking pull of sidelong apparation, the nauseating feeling stretching out over her body until they landed with a sudden stumble of uneven feet in a small mostly deserted alley way. It ran, conveniently, alongside a small strip of shops adjacent to the library. According to Hermione, it was mostly used for deliveries (as far as she knew) and Rosalie looked around to see a small truck parked halfway up the alley ahead of them, its back roller door open, boxes of produce stacked haphazardly inside.

 

“Let’s go,” Hermione hastened, “before the driver comes back.”

 

Quickly, they slipped out from under the cloak and Rosalie stuffed the silky material back into her satchel as they looked around the otherwise deserted alley for onlookers. They were alone.

 

“Okay, follow me,” Hermione said as the casually strolled out of the alley and onto the main walkway, “It’s not far, you can see it from here, see?”

 

Rosalie nodded falling in step beside her friend. People paid them little mind as they passed by, going about their business with an unburdened nonchalance that no one in the wizarding world really had these days. The difference was startling, Rosalie thought, as she considered the people that bustled about around them. These people, these muggles, were able to live life without the threat of war hanging ominously overhead. Yet Rosalie wasn’t sure if she envied them their peace of mind or pitied their ignorance. What would become of them if Voldemort won? Would he stop at merely the total separation of their worlds? Wizarding and Muggle? Or perhaps even that wouldn’t be enough and a new war would erupt where muggles would be forced to fight magic to maintain their freedom, if not their very existence.  

 

Rosalie shivered.

 

“Come on,” Hermione beckoned as they made it into the library without drama. Hermione smiled at the lady behind the desk as she showed her membership card and requested the password that would allow them access to the internet.

 

“Do you know what to search for?” Rosalie asked quietly as they pulled two seats up to crowd around a computer in the farthest corner of the room and angled the screen slightly away from a man who sat two computers down from them.

 

“I was just going to type in ‘Riddle Manor: Little Hangleton’” Hermione replied, typing out the words out as she spoke, “Hopefully it bring something up.”

 

The search page was slow to load and Rosalie couldn’t help shooting a little glance over her shoulder at the man just down from them. He was ignoring them completely, however, completely engaged in whatever was on his screen.

 

“ _Look_ ,” Hermione gasped, pointing at an article halfway down the search page.

 

“What is it?” Rosalie asked, having never used a computer in her life.  Dudley had had at least two of them while they were growing up and she’d not been allowed to touch either of them, though she’d seen him on them often. There were times when Dudley had spent entire days glued to his computer screen playing all number of games and chatting with friends.

 

“I think it’s an article—a muggle article—on the Riddle murders,” she said as she clicked into it. Another screen loaded and Hermione began immediately scrolling through it, her eyes skimming over the words with lightening fast efficiency, “It says here they were found in their family manor, no signs of forced entry or deadly force were determined and local police were baffled by their deaths but suspected that the property caretaker, Frank Bryce, to have had some involvement in it. No arrest was ever made however, as there was no evidence found to tie him to the scene in a manner indicative of homicide and that, aside from being dead, the family appeared otherwise perfectly healthy.”

 

Rosalie nodded, “The Killing Curse. What about the house though?”

 

Hermione shook her head.

 

“It says here that it was sold off some years later, but rarely had any consistent occupancy. Kept for tax purposes most likely,” Hermione mused, “Who’d buy a house were three people were murdered?”

 

“Well as far as anyone in the muggle world knows, they weren’t murdered. Just dead,” Rosalie pointed out, “There aren’t any photos are there, by any chance?”

 

Hermione shook her head, “No. Not in this article. I’ll keep digging. If I can find the council records, we’ll be set.”

 

Rosalie nodded watching as Hermione’s fingers flew across they keyboard with a speed and accuracy that Rosalie found impressive and tried keep up with the speed with which she shifted through information.  An hour later though, Rosalie found her concentration beginning to drift as Hermione scanned through page after page of text and information on the town, the Riddle’s and their mysterious deaths and continued to come up empty. Lulled by boredom and the relative safety of the library, Rosalie felt her eyelids beginning to burn with weariness. She struggled to remain interested as fatigue caught up with her and she fought a losing battle to keep her eyes open. Her head was slumped in her hands, her eyes shut and breathing steady, and for a second Rosalie felt she might actually be able to sleep.

 

“ _Yes!_ Rose, Look!” Hermione hissed suddenly, startling her alert once more, “It’s a sale listing for the property dated nine years ago!”

 

“Nine years is a long time. I wonder how many times the property has changed hands since then?” Rosalie asked as she peered at the screen.

 

“It’s only been sold twice, according to this and it was on the market for six months before it was eventually bought, too. Whoever purchased the property this time—” Hermione tapped at the screen, “—probably still owns it.”

 

Rosalie raised her eyebrows dubiously, “Nine years is a long time. Do you think the horcrux could still be there? After _nine years_? I mean, this isn’t exactly an abandoned cave or bank vault. Someone owns this—they might have been living there.”

 

“I’m sure he would have it protected—like the ring was,” Hermione offered reasonably as she scrolled down the page, “I doubt he’d risk leaving it somewhere a muggle might stumble upon it and discard it as junk. Anyway, he might have moved it there more recently, for all we know. So, if the Headmaster believes it’s here, then it probably is.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Rosalie nodded, “It’s just that they feel so evil. I imagine the feeling of it would permeate the whole house. Like some insidious presence.  Who’d spend nine years living with that?”

 

“Maybe whoever owned the property wasn’t living in it?” Hermione offered with a shrug, “I’ll admit I haven’t spent much time around any of them while they were still active—only the diary briefly in second year—but I never felt much of anything from that, to be honest.”

 

Rosalie shook her head, “Trust me, you can feel it. Look how it affected Ginny—”

 

“ _Bingo!_ ” Hermione exclaimed suddenly, “there’s a link to the floor plan!”

 

Rosalie leant in eagerly, “What? Seriously? Just like that?”

 

Hermione glanced at her, “Why not? The muggles who lived in and sold this house couldn’t have known we’d one day come looking for it. It’s all here—” Hermione grinned, “I _knew_ this would be where we found it!”

 

“This is _perfect_ ,” Rosalie breathed, “We need to make a copy somehow.”

 

“I can print it off,” Hermione told her as she began clicking away at the screen again.

 

“This is the last one, Hermione,” Rosalie said, staring at her in awe, “Dumbledore told me the other day that this is the _last horcrux_ that’s unaccounted for. Once we have this we will have everything we need to finally get rid of Voldemort once and for all—”

 

“Rose!” Hermione hissed in horror, “The _taboo_!”

 

Rosalie froze, a cold shiver passing over her as realisation dawned on her and she stared at Hermione in shock.

 

“We have to get out of here,” Rosalie gasped as she grabbed at her bag, ripping the invisibility cloak from within its depths, “Did you print it?”

 

“No, but—”

 

“Do it, Hermione,” Rosalie interrupted, “We can’t leave here without it.”

 

“Shit,” Hermione whispered and turned back to the computer as Rosalie swung the cloak up and over them. Her finger flew across the keys, “Okay—okay it’s done. The printer is at the front desk.”

 

“Disillusion yourself,” Rosalie ordered, pulling her own wand out to follow suit at the same moment the first Death Eater apparated into the library. Immediately followed by a second, then a third and fourth.

 

The woman at the front desk screamed.

 

“Potter!” a harsh voice snarled, as he slashed his wand down viciously and the woman’s scream was abruptly cut short as she crumpled to the floor, “We know you’re here! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

 

“Rosalie the computer...” Hermione breathed from behind her, pressed in tight under the cloak once more.

 

“Shut it off.” Rosalie breathed in return, though she was fairly confident that Voldemort’s Death Eaters were likely at least as computer illiterate as she was it made sense not to make things too easy for them by leaving the page open to their search.

 

Rosalie watched, wand out as they fanned out around the room slowly, eyes alert and wary as they scouted the surroundings. Out of the corner of her gaze, Rosalie noted the muggle that had been sitting by them was crouched down under the desk eyes wide with fear as he took in the cloaked and masked figures that drifted about the room.

 

She twitched her wand in his direction shielding him with hastily constructed Notice-Me-Not Charm.

 

“They’re blocking the exit,” Hermione whispered again after a moment, “We have to go that way to get to the printer.”

 

“We’ll never make it while we’re both under this,” Rosalie replied, “Take the cloak and grab the print out. I’ll distract them.”

 

“What? No, Rose you can’t—”

 

Rosalie pushed her friend away, “I’m disillusioned and I’ll be careful. Go—it’ll be fine.”

 

Rosalie stepped out from under the cloak before Hermione could argue further and began inching her way around the room slowly using the book stacks for cover as she circled around on the Death Eater’s milling about the room. When she was far enough away, she poked her head around the corner, startling when she almost came face to face with one of the Death Eaters.

 

“ _Stupefy_!” She hissed, hitting him square in the chest before dashing back through the stacks to circle back on herself. A volley of spells followed her as the three remaining Death Eaters all converged on the point from which her spell originated. Someone screamed—a muggle—and made a dash for the exit.

 

A flash of green struck her down before she made it more than four paces, “better come out and play, Potter, or we will start killing off the muggles one by one!”

 

It wasn’t a bluff. They would do it—they already had—but she couldn’t take the risk that they might capture either herself or Hermione in the process if she were to reveal herself. There were thankfully only a few muggles in the library, however—not more than five or six including the woman crumpled behind the counter and the man she’d cast the Notice-Me-Not over. Was that an acceptable loss of life? Was it ever?

 

“I think she’s shy, Selwyn” one of them hissed.

 

Rosalie pressed her back up against the bookcase she was crouched behind as they swept past her, holding as still as possible under the disillusionment to avoid detection.

 

“ _Homenum Revelio_!”

 

Rosalie took off a run the minute she felt the swooping presence of the detection spell wash over her, revealing her presence to the cluster of Death Eaters stalking her through the stacks.

 

“ _There she is!_ ” Someone exclaimed from behind her and a sizzle of heat zapped over her shoulder as she unknowingly dodged a streak of purple.

 

She turned, wand raised as she sought eye contact—she slipped into his mind easily, his thoughts a wash or red that telegraphed his every move:

 

Tripping Jinx—“ _Protego!_ ”

 

Severing Hex— _dodge._

 

Cruciatus—“ _Declino!_ ”

 

Rosalie was panting heavily as she dodged and parried against his attack, twisting her way through the stacks barely more than a step ahead of him. He snarled his frustration as she continued to evade him, but she was backing herself into a corner and soon she’d have nowhere else to retreat. Her heart hammering in her chest Rosalie darted around one of the stacks and flattened herself in against the bookcase holding the perfectly still as her disillusionment charm let her form melt into the surroundings. As long as she held still, she’d be invisible to the naked eye.

 

He appeared behind her a heart beat later and stopped, his gaze darting about the aisle.

 

“ _Oculatero!_ ” Rosalie cast wordlessly, her wand tip angled toward her assailant.

 

He let out a shout of surprise as the hex took effect and his eyesight went dark and Rosalie took off again, using his distraction to slip past him, dodging hands that snatched out for her as he felt her presence pass by him.

 

“Potter!” He snarled, stumbling against the stacks as she darted away, “You fucking bitch!”

 

She moved quickly back through the stacks, eyes alert for the presence of Selwyn and his lackeys while wondering where Hermione was and how she was going to manage to get back to her. Rosalie frowned, should have told Hermione to grab the print out and leave. They could have apparated separately. Now they were both stuck. Rosalie couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave without knowing that Hermione had managed to get herself to safety.

 

Rosalie stopped against the end of an aisle to catch her breath as she thought about the best way to make it back to the front of the library without drawing attention to herself—

 

A searing heat grazed her arm, blistering the flesh almost immediately as her skin sizzled and popped and Rosalie cried out in pain despite herself.

 

She caught the outline of a disillusioned figure moving towards her, wand raised and darted to the side, the smell of ozone searing her nostrils as his blasting hex ripped apart the book stack she had been leaning against.

 

“ _Sectumsepra!_ ” The disillusioned form spat as Rosalie backpedalled. She stumbled, barely dodging the second curse as she tripped over a pile of books, falling into a heap on the floor.

 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”, Rosalie incanted, off-target as the barely there outline of his form melded back into their surroundings.  

 

Rosalie scrambled back to her feet, wand out and her eyes straining to take in the outline of his figure once more. She startled as something crash into her from behind, her footing stumbling again as she twisted sharply under their grasp, bucking against the tight grip on her shoulder.

 

“Rose, stop!” Hermione hissed harshly completely invisible under the cloak.  

 

_Hermione._

 

“Duck!” Rosalie yelled as a curse flew at them again and she pulled Hermione’s invisible form down with her and propelled her down the aisle before them, “We need to get out of here!”

 

“I’m going to apparate us,” Hermione replied and Rosalie felt and invisible hand reaching back for her, finding and cinching around her waist.

 

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, “Do it, quick!”

 

The sucking pull began and Rosalie let out a shout as felt a disembodied hand clamped down hard on her wrist at the exact moment she felt Hermione start to disapparated. Magic lurched around them, pulling against the unexpected weight as they shot through the atmosphere drawn thin and tight—she felt breathless, like perhaps they might not make it and gasped in a lung full of air as she tried to shake the hand still grasping her loose. It felt like she was being split in two: Hermione clutching her tightly to her chest and the weight of the Death Eater who had grabbed at her, fighting to drag them back. Seconds felt like minutes, and then suddenly they came to a jarring halt, the force making her teeth rattle in her head as they slammed up against the Fidelius protecting Grimmauld Place.

 

The sound of their arrival was like a gunshot going off and Rosalie staggered on her feet as they were suddenly thrust back onto solid ground on street outside Grimmauld Place, denied entry from the house. Rosalie looked down at the hand still gripped tightly about her wrist and the arm dangling uselessly from it, splinched from its host and then across at Hermione, half visible from beneath her invisibility cloak.

 

Hermione dropped to her knees and vomited onto the pavement.

 

“‘Mione,” Rosalie breathed, her head still spinning with the after affects of sudden displacement.

 

Rosalie blinked slowly as the edges of her vision began to blur.

 

She could hear the anxious squabble of approaching voices—witnesses, no doubt to their sudden arrival—as the sting of concrete bit into her knees and she collapsed against the sidewalk.

 

 

*

 

 

Hermione woke to darkness and the sound of people arguing. Blinking heavy eyes into the darkness, she glanced minutely around. She was in the makeshift infirmary at Grimmauld Place, tucked warm and safe in a bed that wasn’t her own with a pounding in her head that told her she still had not completely recovered from the force of their apparation displacement. She could feel her pulse in her eyes and her brain felt too large for her head. The acidic burn of vomit was in her mouth and her lips felt dry and chapped. It was the sound of voices pitched low behind her that stole her attention though, their hissing, urgent, snapping tones abrupt and cut off as Hermione strained to make out what they were saying despite the pounding in her head.

 

“—how many more times must we have this conversation before something changes?” a dark voice snarled low and furious. Snape, Hermione realised immediately and went completely still as the last vestiges of sleep left her and she focused all her bleary attention on his words. There would be only one reason Snape would have found himself in the infirmary in the middle of the night and Hermione was not silly enough to believe that _her_ welfare had anything to do with it.

 

Her suspicious were almost immediately confirmed as the achingly familiar sound of her friend’s voice snapped back without pause. Hurt and anger coloured Rosalie’s tone and Hermione bit her lip as she listened: “You only think the risk was unjustified because you don’t know what we found or what it could mean for the war. Dumbledore—”

 

“Do not presume to tell me what I do and do not think. It matters not what you found, you acted with unfathomable _stupidity_ ,” Severus interrupted, before continuing bitterly: “That Albus has made a career of fostering foolhardiness in you and might approve of such recklessness does not help your cause and even now _he_ is lamenting what you have cost us. I was a fool to believe that you might mature beyond such infantile behaviour. Your selfish need to always play the hero—”

 

“Excuse me?” Rosalie hissed back, “It was not _selfishness_ that motivated me into today’s events. We weighed the pros and cons, we persisted for over a week down an avenue that we both knew was getting us nowhere before we finally resolved to take this step—and we were successful!”

 

“Yet, you told no one of what you planned to do. Why? Because you knew that we would not approve of you putting yourself at such risk. You knew, yet you jumped at the first chance you saw to play the hero and look at what you have done? You call today a success? Grimmauld Place is now compromised; you have placed everyone in this building in danger. After tomorrow anyone coming or going from this place chances capture or worse, the Dark Lord will have his spies watching the area surrounding the Fidelius like a hawk. He knows now where you are.”

 

“They cannot reach us through the enchantment. Things will be _fine_ —”

 

“Do try not to be _so naive_ ,” Severus scoffed with a sourness Hermione hadn’t heard from him in more months than she could recall. Severus continued: “You will be moved first thing in the morning.”

 

Rosalie’s voice hitched slightly in reply, “You don’t understand. It was still worth it.”

 

“You risked muggle lives—”

 

“And I’ll have to live with that, just like I’ve had to learn to live with everything else in this war—”

 

“You risked _your_ life. _Again_ ,” Severus snarled in furious vitriol. There was something else though, something other than that lay under the scorn he was unleashing upon her.

 

“What choice do I have but to risk my life?” Rosalie snapped back, exasperated. Wrung out. “What do you suppose the prophesy meant when it says that neither of us can live while the other survives? Me, with a power the ‘Dark Lord knows not’?”

 

There was a beat of heavy silence before Snape offered: “I believe I’ve made my opinion on my regard for that prophecy clear—”

 

“What does it matter what _you_ think about it if the Dark Lord believes it? Or Dumbledore? For Merlin’s sake! What is it that you think you’ve been training me for, Severus?” Rosalie hissed, “To sit idly by in some safe padded corner until it is time to strike the killing blow? That I’m some weapon to be pulled out at the very last moment, to be wound up and aimed at Volde— _You-Know-Who_ from a distance?”

 

“Don’t be absurd.”

 

“Don’t be absurd?” Rosalie heaved in contempt, “Me? _Please_. It is you that is walking into this with the wool pulled wilfully down over your own eyes.”

 

“You are purposefully misunderstanding me. I am not ignorant to the fact that you will inevitably be required to become an active participant in this war, but do you imagine when that time comes that it will be alone without the support of the Order behind you to ensure you have every opportunity of coming out of this _alive_? Yet time and time again you take off hot-headed, half-cocked and full of arrogance believing yourself to be invincible! Your behaviour is that of an arrogant, reckless _child_ who has no concept of gravity of her situation.”

 

“A child, am I? Interesting that you only see fit to deem me such when it suits your purposes,” Rosalie returned viciously, “Either I am or I’m not, but take care that you don’t find yourself standing in the murky shadows of your own aspersions.”

 

“ _Indeed_. How very foolish of me,” Severus intoned quietly, his voice glacial and smooth, “I see, however, I have wasted my breath long enough in trying to make you to see reason. If you have no inclination to care for you own wellbeing, it is pointless for me to squander my time on such fruitless endeavours. Thank you for making that clearer for me.”

 

Hermione could hear her heart beating in the silence that followed. It stretched out over them, blanketing the room in an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. It was only as her lungs started to burn in protest that she realised she was holding her breath...

 

“ _Fine_...”

 

Rosalie.

 

She sounded overwrought—splintered.

 

Hermione’s heart was beating so forcefully in her chest that she could feel it knocking against her ribs—hammering against her breast bone as she waiting for what would happen next. 

 

There was a heavy snap of flicking robes and then the dull click of a measured boot tread across the uneven floor. She could hear the aged floorboards creaking beneath his weight in the otherwise silent room and Hermione slammed her eyes shut as Snape’s shadow passed by the end of her bed. She counted the measure of his footsteps across the floor, their steady beat over the short distance feeling like an eternity in the wake of the destruction left between them. She kept her eyes closed the entire time until the quiet snick of the door swinging shut sounded and she released the breath she hadn’t known she was once more holding.

 

The gasping sob that followed was as gut-wrenching as it was brittle and Hermione didn’t pause to think as she threw back the covers and crossed the room. Rosalie stood stiff in her arms as Hermione clutched at her, her arms grasping tightly at Rosalie’s back as Hermione pressed her face into Rosalie’s neck, trying with all her might to comfort her friend’s rigid form.

 

Rosalie trembled against her, as silent tears streamed unheeded down her face, “No, I’m fine. Sorry—you shouldn’t have had to hear that. Merlin...”

 

Hermione tightened her grip briefly.

 

“I’m fine,” Rosalie repeated again, just as falsely.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Rosalie relaxing against her in hard won inches as Hermione stroked slowly at her back and hair until her tears had stopped and the room was silent once more. Eventually they found themselves pressed entirely together, Rosalie’s weight resting entirely in Hermione’s arms as the trembling subsided and the sun began to break across the horizon.

 

“We should get dressed,” Rosalie offered into the silence.

 

“Soon,” Hermione agreed, had easing down over the back of her head, “We will. Soon.”

 

 

*

 

 

Alternative arrangements turned out to be a wizarding tent and an absolute barrage of privacy charms and wards that rendered their location unplottable and safe from prying eyes. It was no fidelius, but neither could alternate accommodations be prepared on such short notice. Dumbledore had explained as much to them when he’d stopped by again that morning. Rosalie had cringed at the disappointment in his eyes as he’d thanked them for the information that they retrieved and reminded her again about how critical it was that she not take such risks in the future. It only served to emphasise everything Severus had snarled at her that morning and she was left feeling thoroughly chastised by the time he’d departed only a handful of minutes later.

 

Remus had taken one look at her when he’d arrived to retrieve them and made no further comment. He apparated them to the Forest of Dean where they had set up camp in a small clearing, little in the way of words passing between the three of them as they worked together to set up. Hermione began collecting firewood as Remus walked the perimeter setting the wards and enchantments that would keep them safe.

 

Rosalie started at the tent in her hands, trying to focus on the spells needed to set it up, but all she seemed capable of was replaying the worst parts of her argument with Severus and the sense of finality she’d felt when he’d left—like maybe he wasn’t coming back again. Like maybe he didn’t want to.

 

The tent was lopsided when she finally managed to get it standing, leaning dramatically to the left like a tree bent sideways in the wind. She didn’t try to fix it. Though it looked like it might topple over at the slightest gust, it was surprisingly sturdy as she peered in through the front flap. The world was tilted just as crazily on the inside and somehow it suited her current frame of mind as she glanced around the modest sitting room. It wasn’t quiet as luxurious as the tent she’d shared with the Weasley’s at the World Cup, but it would be comfortable enough for the three of them for the foreseeable future.

 

Remus arched his eyebrows in question at the sight of it as he came to stand beside her.

 

Rosalie shrugged her indifference and didn’t meet Remus’ gaze again as she turned and walked away.

 

It was early enough in the season that most of the trees still held their slowly yellowing leaves, yet cold enough in the shade of the forest that she pulled her jumper around her more tightly as she crunched through the sparse leaf litter that had begun to fall. Weak afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the trees in beams of light that cast a dappled glow over the forest floor. It was beautiful and Rosalie allowed herself to be distracted from the pressing weight of her thoughts as she drank in the sight of it.

 

She paused as she came across a large tree, just out of sight from the tent, yet still well within the perimeter of the wards. Its roots were gnarled and exposed, twisting around themselves to form a natural seat against the base of its trunk. Crawling over the knotted sprawl of its roots, she pressed herself back up against its rough bark, pulling her knees up against her chest as if she meant to disappear into it entirely.

 

A gentle breeze stirred, bringing with it more thoughts of Severus and Rosalie sighed, resigned to the fact that she seemed completely unable to escape him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Rosalie looked up as her friend’s bushy head poked around the trunk of the tree to look down at her.

 

“Hey,” Rosalie replied, shifting easily to one side as the brunette crawled down to sit beside her and huddled in close.

 

“You okay?” Hermione asked quietly, “You’ve been pretty quiet all day.”

 

Hermione was being kind. Rosalie knew she’d barely spoken more than a handful of words since Dumbledore had left that morning, utterly consumed with her own self-pity. It was childish, she knew—more proof, perhaps, that Severus was right she thought bitterly.

 

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

 

“I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” Hermione offered quietly.

 

Rosalie sighed, “It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. You didn’t force me to go. I made that choice and I’m the one who fucked it up. I wasn’t thinking and I’m glad, more than anything, that you’re okay.”

 

“Maybe, but still,” Hermione said, picking up a stray twig to begin stripping it of its leaves, “I pushed for us to go. I’m at least as much to blame as you are.”

 

Rosalie offered her a tiny smile, “Maybe.”

 

A comfortable silence settled between them as Rosalie turned her attention back out to the forest around them wondering idly if Hermione was feeling as conflicted as she was over everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

 

“Are you thinking about Snape?” Hermione asked after a moment.

 

Rosalie shook her head, “I wasn’t, but he’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.”

 

Hermione nodded, “I thought as much. I have been too, to be honest.”

 

Rosalie frowned, “I’m sorry you had to hear that. We should have put up a silencing charm...”

 

“He cares for you. A lot,” Hermione said carefully.

 

Rosalie huffed, and then, her voice dripping with sarcasm and more anger than she’d been able to muster since the door had clicked shut behind Severus’ retreating form, asked: “How could you tell? All I got from that exchange was that he thinks I’m both childish and irresponsible...that I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions and take care of my own safety.”

 

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed softly, turning her gaze out over the filtered light shining in through the trees, “That’s certainly what his words said.”

 

“He made his point more than clear,” Rosalie agreed.

 

Hermione nodded and looked back at her, “His words were certainly full of anger, but perhaps his anger... was full of fear? For you.”

 

Rosalie frowned as something in her chest pulled tight, “What?”

 

“I think he’s scared of what this war might mean for you,” Hermione continued, “I’ve be turning things over in my head all day, replaying what I heard again and again and I keep coming back to the same thought.”

 

Rosalie looked sideways at her, curious and yet unwilling to meet her gaze, “And what’s that?”

 

“Severus Snape has never struck me as an irrational man, but try as he might he can’t make himself be rational with you. Logically, he knows, as we all do, what role you’ll play in the war. That it has been predestined is beside the point. You know I’m the last person to put much weight behind fate and destiny, or at least the divination of such concepts. It doesn’t matter though. Prophesy aside, true or not, like you said, You-Know-Who believes you to be his equal—the final hurdle he must overcome—and so it is what it is. Whether or not you are the one to end You-Know-Who’s life, you play an integral part in all of this, which puts you at risk.”

 

“We are all at risk, Hermione,” Rosalie replied blankly, “While he is alive, threatening out way of life, we are all at risk.”

 

“I know,” Hermione conceded, “But I think Snape hates that you are so accepting of this role you have been cast to play and the danger that it inevitably puts you in. I don’t know that he really knows what to do with your apparent disregard for you own life, when it’s clear _he_ values it—you—so dearly. Anyone who has spent enough time around the two of you can see that you care for one another, I’ve said as much before. Every time you stumble he has been there to pick you up and every time you do something that puts your life in danger, I think he’s scared that perhaps next time you won’t come back and he won’t have been there to save you... I don’t think he knows how to deal with that.”

 

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

 

“He was angry last night—furious, even—but I think more than anything, he’s terrified of losing you,” Hermione finished.

 

Isn’t that exactly what had happened though? Merlin, it felt like it. Rosalie felt her lip quivering and valiantly fought against the knot that was suddenly in her throat, making it hard to breath and even harder to swallow, “ _Merlin_...”

 

Hermione wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Rosalie crumpled, curling in on herself as the tears came again—hot, wet, messy tears that had her covering her face in embarrassment and clutching at her chest as if she meant to hold her heart in by sheer force of will.

 

“I think I’m in love with him,” Rosalie sobbed lurching forward to bury her head against her tucked up knees, her breath coming with great quaking sobs.

 

“I know,” Hermione agreed as she rubbed Rosalie’s back.

 

“Merlin, Hermione,” Rosalie breathed, her voice thin and tremulous, “It hurts...it hurts so much to think that I might have lost him because of this.”

 

Hermione lent her head forward, pressing it up against Rosalie’s shoulder before pressing her cheek flat against her shoulder blade in an embrace, “It’ll be okay, Rose. I promise you, it will be okay.”

 

“Everything just feels so mixed up,” She huffed out through shuddering breaths, “I feel guilty for having disappointed him—and Dumbledore—but I’m still mad at him for being such a dick, too.”

 

Hermione stroked her back evenly.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Rosalie admitted, “I can’t focus on anything other than this crushing feeling in my chest...”

 

“Give it time,” Hermione offered softly, “Everything still feels raw and wounded right now. Give yourself a chance to heal before rubbing salt into it. Maybe, in that time, Snape will come round.”  

 

 

*

 

 

Remus shut the tent flap closed tightly behind him and stood facing slanting the room, his mind blank but for a white-wash of disbelief at what he’d just heard.

 

Rosalie was _in love_ with Snape? Severus Snape? Surely not. It seemed...impossible. He knew that they’d become close over the last few years, that much was blatantly obvious, but in love? The notion made him feel vaguely sick and he scrubbed a hand over his face as if to quell the feeling.

 

Perhaps Rosalie, young and impressionable, was confusing the guiding, helping hand of an older man with love? It was possible she’d begun to idolise him and, in a manner of speaking, _believed_ herself to be in love with him, right? Was that what this was? Was she infatuated with the wisdom and power she so respected in a man she’d been allowed to grow so close with? Severus seemed like such an unlikely figure for teenage infatuation though...even before you added in the fact that he was old enough to be her father—quite literally, given he was the same age her father would have been, which led him to wonder if it wasn’t some kind of latent _daddy_ issue?

 

Remus frowned, wondering if that wasn’t the most horrible thought he’d had all day.

 

She’d grown up in such repressed circumstances that the notion wasn’t complete absurd though, was it? Wasn’t that how such things were meant to start?

 

Remus didn’t even want to contemplate the fact that Hermione seemed not to think it at all crazy that Snape cared for Rosalie too. Which of course he did, they all did...but that didn’t mean he was in love with her. Merlin, he hoped not. It was too much. Remus had no bloody idea how he was meant to deal with something like this. He felt entirely ill equipped and inadequate for the task ahead. Did he confront her over it? Did he confront Snape? The implication was certainly that there was something between them for Rosalie to believe she could ‘lose’ him.

 

But then...?

 

 _Merlin’s balls_.

 

He remembered, suddenly, a forgotten robe that had been thick with the smell of arousal and Rosalie mingled together so damningly. He had suspicions then, hadn’t he? Only to be dismissed and denied like he was a fool for even suspecting what lay right in front of him. So unbelievable it was at the time, he’d allowed his concern to be brushed aside without so much as a token argument.

 

That had been _weeks_ ago!

 

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, “What the hell do I do now, Prongs?”

 

He had to wonder if it was even any of his business. He knew Sirius would have hated it ruthlessly. James, too, could be just as immature about these things as Sirius could be a times. They’d both hated Snape with a passion all throughout their schooling. For Sirius, that had been allowed to carry on into adulthood as if someone had pressed pause on his emotional and mental maturation the minute he was sent to Azkaban. James, on the other hand, had hardly been given the chance to grow out of such things.

 

Neither of them seemed like the best place to go looking for inspiration on how to deal with this—besides which, they were both dead. He was on his own it seemed, as he had been for much of his adult life.

 

“This is all your fault, Prongs,” He mumbled mutinously as he sunk down onto the soft couch in the middle of the room, “No one warned me that I’d be the one left to deal with your daughter’s teenage heartbreak.”

 

Taking out his wand he summoned his Patronus and, before he let himself over think it, sent a message off to the fading afternoon.

 

‘ _We need to talk._ ’

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few little notes:
> 
>  **[1]** \- an excerpt taken directly from the fourth book 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire', written and owned by J.K. Rowling :)
> 
>  **Oculatero** \- A temporary blinding hex. Found online here -- > http://harrypotterfanon.wikia.com/wiki/The_Compendium_of_Incantations  
> Not sure who is to thank for that one! ;)


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Hope you are all still with me! I realise the long delays between chapters make things difficult. I'm still working on this story though and intend to finish it, so hang in there!
> 
> Once again this isn't beta read, so I apologise for any mistakes! If I notice any I'll try and come back and correct them as they pop up, but after a while of staring at the same writing over and over my brain starts to miss things. If by any chance someone would like to beta read my work, leave me a comment in the comments section and I'll get in contact.
> 
> Also a huge THANK YOU to everyone who continues to comment and leave support for this story. I am sorry I don't individually reply to you all, but I am inspired to keep going every time I get a notification that someone has left a review! Seriously, it means the world!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twenty Six**

 

 

The summons came via Patronus: _‘We need to talk.’_

Severus ignored it. Whatever the problem, it wasn’t one that Severus was currently interested in. He knew it could only be about one thing—or rather one _person_ —and right now he wanted nothing more than to _not_ be thinking about Rosalie Potter. Potter and her ruthless lack of self-preservation—her foolish risk taking—that was going to see her dead before the Dark Lord even needed to take a crack at her.

 

The very thought stirred up the raw-edged dregs of his anger once more.

 

‘How utterly _Gryffindor_ ,’ Severus sneered to himself, but then couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t precisely the problem? Perhaps this was nothing more than the Slytherin in him warring against the Gryffindor in her? Albus had seen to it that a well honed sense of Gryffindor heroics had been fostered in her from the minute she’d stepped foot into Hogwarts. She’d been subtly _encouraged_ to leap first and ask questions later—philosopher’s stones, basilisks and the thrice-damned Tri-Wizard Tournaments—rewarded for her daring feats at every turn. She was hell-bent on thrusting herself into the line of fire and while he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the time would come when such risks were unavoidable for her, her lack of self-preservation instinct was going to be his undoing.

 

Whatever the issue this time, the wolf could sort it out without his assistance. Doubtless, Lupin would soon learn that no matter his thoughts on the issue, Rosalie would follow her own council regardless.

 

_‘It’s important, Severus,’_ came the second summons some hours later, then: _‘It’s about Rosalie.’_

‘Of course it is,’ Severus thought with a roll of his eyes as he sunk down into the chair behind his desk with an exhausted sigh.

How was he expected to care for someone who put no stock in their own life? How was he expected to withstand the onslaught she unleashed upon him every time he was forced to scoop up her crumpled form and put her back together again? How many times would he have to gaze down at her still, pale body and wonder if _this_ time her luck had run out?

 

It was only by chance that he had been standing beside Albus when the wards were set off at Grimmauld Place. They had left at once and yet it had still taken them precious minutes to move beyond the boundaries of the anti-apparation wards protecting the castle before they were able to apparate away. He hadn’t known what he would find as they arrived at Grimmauld Place, but finding the house still and undisturbed was almost more disconcerting than finding it under siege.

 

He’d followed as Albus led them out the front door unerringly and onto the street where a small group of muggles were beginning to mill around a disturbance on the sidewalk. There Granger’s ashen face could be seen, lolling listlessly to one side, unconscious beside a puddle of emesis. Like some macabre Picasso, only half of her was visible—her head and neck, one arm and most of her left foot—and it took him a beat to realise that she lay beneath Rosalie’s invisibility cloak.

 

Rosalie had been nowhere to be seen...

 

 

 

_Severus hastened to the girl’s side as Albus dealt with the muggle bystanders._

_“Granger,” He called as he’d shook at her shoulder, tugging the cloak free of her form as he assessed her for further injuries. Despite being unconscious, she appeared whole and uninjured as he withdrew his wand and placed it at her temple, “_ Enervate! _”_

_Granger’s head flopped to the side and without further warning she purged her stomach once more, the acid-yellow slick of bile pouring from her lax mouth in a steady stream. Magical depletion, Severus realised as he stepped back to avoid the emesis with a sneer of disgust and stumbled as his ankle twisted over uneven ground. He’d turned and looked down at the pavement in question, smooth and flat beneath his feet before prodding the area with a booted toe. It connected with something soft and heavy..._

_“_ Finite Incantatem! _” Severus breathed and suddenly Rosalie melted back into existence at his feet. She too was unconscious, looking pale and drawn, but alive and unharmed but for the splinched hand clamped tightly about her wrist, it’s knuckles still white with tension as it gripped her hard enough to bruise._

_He fell to his knees beside her, hand brushing back the hair from her face as he looked her over for injuries._

_“Apparation Displacement,” Albus offered solemnly as he looked them over._

 

_Severus nodded, prying the splinched arm off of her wrist and eyeing the mottled ring of bruising it had left, “It would appear that they left of their own accord and ran into trouble along the way.”_

_“I’m somewhat surprised at the damage they managed to inflict on the wards,” Albus said with a nod towards the house, “It will not be easily repaired. We will have to make other arrangements from here on out.”_

 

_Severus cast a feather-light charm over her and scooped Rosalie’s slack body into his arms; her head drooped back over the crook of his elbow, arms and legs sagging gracelessly around her, “What were they doing beyond the wards?”_

_“A very good question, indeed,” Albus agreed as he lifted Hermione’s body with a wordless Mobilicorpus and floated her back into the house through the front door, “though it is one I suspect I know the answer to. I assured them this was not necessary—”_

 

 

 

Severus frowned as he turned the events over in his mind once more. Perhaps equally as disconcerting as his concern for Potter, was the fact that the Dark Lord had not summoned him following the events of the afternoon.  Surely he was to have questions concerning Potter’s whereabouts? His taboo had been invoked and Potter sighted by his followers in Muggle London and yet no summons had been forthcoming—

 

Severus glance up sharply as the door to his office swung open abruptly, flying inwards with such force that it reverberated off the stone wall behind it with a shudder. Severus’ eyes narrowed as Lupin stalked in fluidly and flung it shut again.

 

“Lupin,” Severus greeted, unimpressed by the wolf’s theatrics, “If I had wanted to entertain the idea of talking to you I would have responded.”

 

Remus’ brows were drawn down in a tight knot against his forehead, “This is important.”

 

“Indeed,” Severus replied dismissively, “However, whatever issue you are having with Potter—”

 

“Don’t try and pretend now that Rosalie’s welfare means nothing to you,” Remus growled, his angry stride eating up the space separating them, finally pushed too far, the shock of the afternoon finally breaking free as he lent over Severus’ desk and jabbed a finger against the grain of the wood pointedly, “I want to know what’s going on between you and Rosalie.”

 

Severus went utterly and completely still, surprised, though he didn’t show it, by the line of questioning. He had thought this to be about Potter’s excursion beyond the wards, “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” Remus replied sharply; more sharply than Severus might have expected from him, though he straightened up off of the desk to stare down at him.

 

Severus hesitated as his mind whirred through the possibilities that could have brought Remus to the conclusion that something was indeed occurring, or had occurred, between himself and Rosalie. Had Rosalie confided in the wolf? Or did he only suspect and had come looking for proof?

 

“If you’re referring to the disagreement between Potter and I earlier—”

 

Remus snarled, his eyes flashing amber as the wolf made its presence known and Severus felt his entire body tense though outwardly he remained calm.

 

“I’m referring to the fact that she seems to be labouring under the belief that she is _in love_ with you,” Remus interrupted, the words ‘in love’ barely discernible with the animalistic weight of the wolf behind them, “a fact you could hardly be oblivious to given the many hours you seem to spend in one another’s presence. Yet, you avoid the obvious in a clumsy attempt to redirect my focus...”

 

Severus didn’t point out that he’d been purposefully goading the wolf into divulging what he knew with his ‘clumsy’ manipulations. His mind was entirely caught on the fact that Lupin had just informed him that Rosalie thought she was ‘in love’ with him. The words seemed to echo through his very core as the very notion brought with it its own heady concoction of emotions. Were they Lupin’s words though? Or had they come from Rosalie?

 

Lupin seemed to be waiting for him to respond, his eyes bright with intensity.

 

“It’s true we have become close,” Severus began slowly, unsure where he wanted to take this. Of all the people to find out about their relationship, it made sense that Lupin would be the first to suspect something more. That this day had not come sooner was a blessing. What now though? Though he had long dreaded the very idea of anyone finding out about them, he didn’t feel the overwhelming sense of shame he’d endured after that first night they’d been together. He was prepared, he realised shockingly, to weather the coming storm despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. That he was beyond furious with her didn’t matter, Lupin’s sudden appearance had made him realise that perhaps his misgivings were minor in the overall scheme of things.  Still, he thought about denying it—denying _her—_ but he knew almost immediately that he wouldn’t do it.

 

He didn’t want to.

 

“Stop evading the question. Tell me what the bloody hell going on between you, Snape?” Remus returned pointedly, his voice low as he seemed to realise that Severus wasn’t denying things as he might have hoped.

 

“Nothing she wasn’t wholeheartedly in agreement with,” Severus replied evenly.

 

Lupin seemed to turn rigid, his amber gaze never leaving Severus’ as he weighed the meaning of Severus’ words.

 

“You... _bastard_ ,” Lupin breathed, shutting his eyes momentarily as if overwhelmed by the truth of Snape’s confession, “How dare you even _think_ of touching her.”

 

“What business is it of yours, Lupin?” Severus replied, one eyebrow arched in condescension, “She is a consenting adult, as am I.”

 

“She is a ‘consenting adult’ young enough to be your _daughter_!” Lupin hissed at him, “She is your student—”

 

“ _Was_ ,” Severus corrected sharply.

 

Lupin scoffed at him, “Barely. In the same way she is _barely_ and adult. For fuck’s sake! She is James’ daughter, Snape! _Lily’s_... Or perhaps—Merlin, help me!—perhaps that is exactly what this is all about...?”

 

“I sincerely hope you are not insinuating—” Severus began darkly only to be cut off again as Lupin ploughed on.

 

“—is that what she is to you?” Remus asked in disgust, “Your ultimate vengeance for the grievances of your childhood and a missed opportunity all rolled into one conveniently available package?”

 

Severus’ lip curled in disgust, “and you claim I am the one who cannot let go of the past? I can assure you James and Lily Potter were the last two people on my mind while I was engaging in intimacies with their daughter. My past with her parents is... unfortunate, but it has no bearing on the present.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Lupin shook his head, repulsion written across every inch of his face.

 

“Shockingly, I do not care,” Severus told him flatly, “My relationship with Rosalie is none of your business, Lupin.”

               

“It’s my business when it’s my goddaughter you’re manipulating,” Lupin challenged.

               

“You may think so, however, Rosalie is an adult and more than capable of making her own decisions,” Severus intoned darkly, “If you have questions or concerns about our relationship or her decisions, perhaps she would be more inclined to answer them than I am.”

               

“I think you owe me an explanation, Snape.”

               

Severus sent him a cutting look, “I owe you less than nothing.”

               

Lupin’s eyes flashed amber once more, “What is she owed though? She has spent the afternoon in tears because of whatever you said to her this morning. This ‘relationship’ ends now. You understand? If you touch her again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

               

“I am suitably terrified,” Severus returned mockingly.

               

Remus snarled warningly, “I mean it, Snape. If you touch her again, I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”

               

“Noted,” Severus deadpanned as he held Lupin’s gaze, the hard amber of the Wolf’s gaze burning through him as he refused to cow to its authority. He could see the beast railing against the man it was caged inside, rippling restlessly beneath Lupin’s skin at the clear challenge Severus had laid at its feet. Severus’ fingers ghosted over his wand subtly, readying himself should the beast overcome the man...

 

“I don’t know what she possibly saw in you,” Lupin said finally, turning way. Severus watched him make his way back across the room silently, his eyes dark.

 

“Lupin,” Severus called as he reached the door and there werewolf paused, back rigid arm braced against the door, “Perhaps you ought to remember that it wasn’t me who left her unchaperoned in the woods while you ran off to defend her honour this evening. Without the protections of the Fidelius she is vulnerable.”

 

Remus snarled and the door rattled as it was slammed shut behind his retreating back.

 

 

*

 

 

Remus arrived back at camp and immediately went in search of the two girls he’d left unsupervised in his haste. It had been rash of him, leaving them unprotected but for his hastily constructed wards, but the realisation of what had been occurring between Snape and Rosalie under his very nose had rocked him to his core. Snape had let him stew in that outrage, ignoring his summons and fuelling the flames of his ire with every minute that ticked by unanswered and finally, hours later, Remus had been unable to wait any longer.

 

What had confronting Snape achieved though?

 

Remus didn’t believe for a second that Snape would heed his warning. Rosalie was too great a temptation for Snape to just walk away from. Rosalie was all the greatest parts of Lily and all the memories of James rolled into one young, beautiful and impressionable package. Snape had simply had to sit back and wait; he’d struck the moment she’d come of age and Rosalie, primed to look up to Snape, to trust and believe in him, had fallen straight into his games.

 

Remus stalked through the flap of their tent, searching anxiously for the two teens he’d thoughtlessly walked out on and breathed out a sigh of a relief when he quickly located them. They were curled up around one another on Rosalie’s bed, Hermione wrapped protectively around her friend, both of them asleep. Even in the shadows of the room, Remus could see the red blotches on Rosalie’s face though, inflamed from her crying jag that afternoon. The sight of it stirred the embers of his anger still burning brightly in the pit of his stomach.

 

‘Things can’t be left to continue on as they have been,’ Remus thought as he left the sleeping girls and made his way back outside the tent to keep watch. Snape clearly couldn’t be trusted and Rosalie’s judgment had been swayed by him. She needed time apart from him to come to a more rational decision where Snape was concerned. A man old enough to be her father wasn’t the right choice for her and with time and distance she would hopefully come to see that. The stress of the war and her isolation from people her own age had muddied her feelings for Snape, that much was obvious. It had left her vulnerable to Snape influence (Remus couldn’t call it ‘charms’, the idea of Severus being charming in such a way was almost laughable).

 

It occurred to Remus that it was possible he was in a unique position to fix things, however. Severus, after all, didn’t know the forests of the British Isles like he did and with the right warding it could be possible for Remus to keep Rosalie from him. Albus wouldn’t question the added protections, so long as Remus kept him apprised of their movements and if Severus ever did catch on, Remus would keep them moving so that they’d be gone before he ever caught up.

 

With that thought in mind Remus conjured up a chair and sank into it before casting a warming charm over himself as he settled in for the night. Perhaps it was extreme, but there were going to be on the move anyway and if it worked, it would be worth it in the long run.  It wouldn’t take Rosalie long to move past him and when she did, she’d realise the mistake it had been to become so involved with a man like Snape.

 

 

*

 

 

Rosalie woke to the sound of birds and the stillness of nature. She lay in bed a moment, watching the pale morning light begin to creep in across the room, and wiped at her swollen gritty eyes. Though the pain in her chest was just as prominent as it had been the day before at the thought of Severus, she felt calmer after a full night’s rest, less emotional. Spent from the day prior, she felt wrung out—numb.

 

Taking a deep breath in, she curled into the pillow beside her as she stared blankly into the room, eyes as distant as her thoughts as she recalled her outburst from the day before. Rosalie felt her cheeks tint pink with embarrassment over her overwrought behaviour and flooding tears.  She’d cried more in the last three months than she had in the entirety of her time at Hogwarts—more than she had since she learnt with the Dursley’s that tears didn’t change _anything_. Much like time wasted wishing things were different. It was done and there was nothing she could do to change things now. Knowing that to be true and accepting it, however, were two entirely different concepts and she’d been powerless against the onslaught of tears that had crippled her.  She’d cried and cried and cried until her voice was hoarse, her head pounding and her eyes were swollen and red. Then, finally, when the tears had abated enough for her to talk through the hiccupping sobs, she’d told Hermione _everything_.

 

Every agonizing, wonderful, heartbreakingly painful detail of her evolving relationship with Severus was divulged without restraint, until she was left feeling stripped and vulnerable awaiting a judgment that had never come.

 

_“I know,”_ Hermione had said in return, _“I’ve known. Or, at least—Well...I saw you both in the library a little while ago.”_

 

Rosalie shivered and curled in on herself further, burying herself beneath the covers of her bed as sounds of movement from the main living area of their wonky tent filtered back to her. She didn’t want to think about how she was going to explain her behaviour to Remus. He’d seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable with her obviously distressed state when Hermione had finally lead her back inside the day before when the sun had slipped low enough of the horizon that the forest chill was beginning to seep into their bones. He’d avoided her gaze and busied himself with dinner preparations while Rosalie and Hermione had sequestered themselves in her room. Rosalie didn’t expect he would remain so distance for long, not when past behaviour indicated that he would press her to open up to him sooner rather than later. A lick of anger curled its way up her spine as she realised that once again, because of Severus, she would be left with no explanation to give him.

 

Rosalie huffed and threw back the covers as she rose from the bed.  She was a mess: her eyes red and swollen, her hair a snarled, knotted heap that hung around her face in clumped strands... Rosalie scrubbed her hands over her face and sighed, before conjuring a basin and filling it with cool water. She leant over and cupped her hands under the surface of the water and splashed her face, gasping at the shock of icy water as it washed away the fatigue and the dried residue of tears that still clung to her cheeks. Rosalie blinked rapidly as rivulets of water ran down her face before repeating the process again and again until her skin felt fresh and clear. Her fingers pressed tenderly against the puffy bags under her eyes as she cleared the water from her face and Rosalie decided that a quick de-swelling charm was in order before she left her room for the day, probably a spell to smooth out the tangles of her hair too, so that she didn’t look exactly like she’d spent the entire night sobbing into her pillow.

 

“Morning,” Hermione offered, looking up at Rosalie as she exited the wonky tent. The brunette was sitting on a deep, overstuffed looking armchair just outside of the entrance to the tent, “Did you sleep alright?”

 

Rosalie shrugged and then shook her head, “A bit. Probably more than I usually do. I was exhausted.”

 

“Me too,” Hermione agreed as she summoned a tea pot from inside the tent. It was still lightly steaming and she poured her friend a cup and motioned for her to conjure up a chair. They sat together sipping their warm mugs of tea as the sun crept over the tree tops around them. Rosalie let her head tilt back against the chair behind her, closing her eyes and inhaling the fresh scent of morning as they sat in a companionable silence. The morning was still and quiet, barely a rustle of wind whispering through the trees around them as she absorbed the feeling of peace that saturated the forest.

 

“Have you seen Remus?” Rosalie asked eventually, opening the eyes only enough to glance across at her friend.

 

“He’s sleeping. I’ve not long taken over watch. He said to wake him in a couple of hours though or if we needed him,” Hermione replied.

 

“Did he ask you about yesterday?” Rosalie asked cautiously, looking down into her teacup as if it held all the answers.

 

Hermione shook her head, “He didn’t say a word, although perhaps he is waiting for the opportunity to talk to you about it himself?”

 

“Maybe,” Rosalie agreed, “Probably.”

 

“He’s going to wonder,” Hermione pointed out, “That does remind me though—he mentioned that Bill would be stopping by sometime this morning with news of Gregorovitch. They’ve located him, I believe.”

 

Rosalie arched an eyebrow in surprise, her expression and unconscious imitation of her lover’s, “Already? That was quick.”

 

Hermione hummed in agreement.

 

Rosalie pulled out her wand and turned it over in her hands as she ran her fingers over the familiar notches and twists in the grain of the wood, “It’s strange, thinking about a having a new wand.”

 

Pulling her sleeve down over her hand, Rosalie polished the wood, rubbing out the smudge of fingerprints that littered its surface and tried to imagine the feel of an unfamiliar wood resting in her hands, the hum of power barely contained under its surface as her fingertips wrapped around it’s handle. It was difficult for her to imagine another wand as attuned to her as her own. Ollivander had always said that ‘the wand chooses the wizard’, surely any other wand now could only be second best? Her holly wand had been with her from the beginning as she began to understand her magic and respect its limits; the idea of facing down Voldemort without the steadfast familiarity of her holly wand was a terrifying thought.

 

Such thoughts were still swirling in the back of her mind when Bill’s patronus scurried up to them to announce _their_ arrival beyond the boundary of Remus’ wards.  

 

Hermione looked across at her friend in askance, “ _‘We’ve arrived’_? Surely Bill hasn’t brought Gregorovitch _here_?”

 

But he had, they realised quickly as Hermione disappeared inside the tent and reappeared only a few moments later with a rumpled looking werewolf following after her. Remus glanced over at them briefly before quickly making his way down to the boundary of the wards, shooting a terse ‘wait here’ over his shoulder.

 

Gregorovitch had insisted on getting started immediately and accompanied Bill despite the redhead’s protestations to the contrary.

 

“He threatened to leave if I didn’t bring him with me,” Bill explained to Remus quietly once they had both been brought across the boundary of the wards. The redhead shot a glance across at the ill-tempered wandmaker, “He’s under oath and he agreed to be blindfolded for the journey.”

 

“He’s a bloody _wandmaker_ , Bill,” Remus sighed, “He’ll know exactly where he is by the trees surrounding us alone.”

 

Bill was silent for a beat, “I didn’t have a choice, Remus. He agreed to come with us so to provide Rosalie with a new wand, but refuses our protection. He’ll stay only as long as it takes to ensure an adequate match has been made.”

 

Remus shook his head, “It hardly matters now. He can supply Rosalie her wand and then leave, I intended to keep on the move anyway. If he betrays our location, we will be gone before anyone has the chance to come looking for us.”

 

“He’s never declared his allegiance one way or another,” Bill pointed out.

 

“He’s been known to have Dark affiliations,” Remus returned, “I’ll not take the chance one way or another.”

 

Bill nodded, “Right.”

 

“Good,” Gregorovitch interjected, suddenly beside them once more, “Lead me to the girl.”  

 

 

*

 

 

Rosalie eyed the elderly man introduced to her as Gregorovitch. His face was pinched in an irritable slant, his mouth a split across his face like a crack that ran through a weathered log and his brow a heavy knot that seemed to shadow his eyes, but he held out a craggy arthritic hand to her and she accepted it congenially, shooting a quick glance at Remus as her hand slid into his roughened one.

 

“Rosalie Pott—” she began, surprised when the hand that took hers and turned it over instead of shaking it as she’d expected and began inspecting it with a degree of intensity that made her flush red as the wizard ignored her words entirely.

 

“I know who you are, girl,” He huffed, his accent warping his words in an unfamiliar way as he turned her palm up and spread her fingers, muttering to himself: “Eleven inches, interesting.”

 

“What?” Rosalie asked, confused.

 

He ignored her question, “We will begin now.”

 

Rosalie frowned, “Okay?”

 

Gregorovitch pulled a trunk from within his robes and resized it until it was more than double the size of the trunk she’d taken with her to Hogwarts every year. He hefted it into position easily though and fiddled with the clasp so that he could throw open the lid. Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline in surprise at the contents of his trunk, “Where are the wands?”

 

Gregorovitch scoffed and continued to set up his work space, unfolding the trunk piece by piece until an entire corner of their wonky tent had been transformed into a work space that looked like it had been there for weeks instead of mere minutes.

 

“It is going to be _your_ wand, no?” he told her as he reached in for another smaller trunk and sat it on the work station that now stood before them, “every piece of this wand must resonate with _you_ , not me, not some stranger—certainly not the Dark Lord. This wand will be yours in a way no other wand would or could be.”

 

“You’re going to _make_ it?” Remus interjected suddenly.

 

Gregorovitch shot him an irritated look, “This is what I just said, yes.”

 

“How long will that take?” Remus asked with a frown.

 

“It will take exactly as long as it takes,” Gregorovitch responded dryly, his tone dismissive, “Longer with interruptions.”

 

Remus scowled, “That was not part of the agreement—our time is limited and Rosalie will need time to train with the wand to become familiar with its power and feel. We do not have endless weeks ahead of us for you to whittle a wand from scratch.”

 

“You have made many wands yourself, yes? To have such understanding on how long ‘whittling’ a wand will take?” Gregorovitch barked, his accent thickening so that his ‘w’-sounds were coming out sounding like a ‘v’: ‘You haf made many vands yourself, yes? To haf such understansing on how long ‘vhittling’ a vand vill take?’

 

Remus glared mistrustfully at him, “No.”

 

“This way is better,” Gregorovitch continued, turning back to Rosalie, “This wand will be entirely yours. The most powerful. No training will be necessary.”

 

Remus said no more, retreating to the corner of the room to keep a watchful eye over them as Gregorovitch turned back to the trunk that sat on the bench before them, “First you must pick the wood that we will use.”

 

He cracked open the lid on the smaller trunk to reveal tray stacked atop of tray stacked atop of tray of wooden branches, all varying in shape, colour and length, displayed neatly beside one another on green velvet. Rosalie lent forward and glanced over them unpacking each layer carefully until they were all laid out around them for her to choose from.

 

Gregorovitch looked at her expectantly, but said nothing, watching her carefully as her eyes traced over each of the different woods.

 

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Rosalie admitted when no further guidance was forthcoming.

 

“Yes, you do,” Gregorovitch replied gruffly, “You are looking for a wood, that speaks to you...Perhaps you stir at the sight of it, no? Is it the smell? Is it the colour of the wood, or the way the bark feels against the palm of your hand? Is the wood from a sapling, still supple and young and green at its core? Or is it older, wiser? Perhaps it has come from a tree that has stood the test of time and seen the world changing over decades and centuries?”

 

Rosalie frowned as she turned back to the selection of wood before her, her hand reaching out to brush her fingers across the surface of those nearest to her. She lingers over a piece, shorter than the length of her holly wand, and curls her fingers around its width. It’s pale in colour and almost weightless in her palm and immediately she knows it is the wrong piece and puts it back down.

 

She spends a further twenty minutes agonising over every piece of wood on display before her before she picks up a piece of wood as black as the moonless sky at its core and tests is weight in her hands. It is solid and warms pleasantly in her palm as she handles it carefully. The feeling it evokes in her is enough that she is about to turn back to Gregorovitch with her answer when another piece takes her eye. It’s immediately so familiar to her that she instantly knows that it’s from a holly tree and without relinquishing the piece already in her hands she picks up the holly branch.

 

“This is it,” She said suddenly with a conviction that startles her but she knows intimately to be true.

 

“The holly?” Gregorovitch prompts.

 

“No. Both,” Rosalie says turning back to him, “The both of them together. It feels...right.”

 

Gregorovitch inclines his head, but there is an expression on his face that Rosalie reads as surprise.

 

“Is it possible to have more than one type of wood?” Rosalie asks as, she clutches both pieces protectively to her chest.

 

“It is uncommon, but not impossible,” Gregorovitch replies as he wastes little time packing away the remained of his stock, with quick, sure movements despite himself and the arthritis that twisted his fingers, “Which one will form the base?”

 

“The base?” Rosalie parroted in question looking down at the two branches in her hands, gripping and rolling them in her hands as she assessed the feel of them both in her palms.

 

“The handle?” Gregorovitch clarified.

 

Rosalie nodded, holding out the midnight wood, “This one.”

 

“Ebony,” Gregorovitch told her, “A highly uncommon choice of wood. Many do not have the personal fortitude to wield a wand of ebony, but it is an exceptional wood choice for a duellist, to be sure.”

 

Rosalie nodded, “And holly?”

 

“Another rare selection, but perhaps not wholly unexpected,” Gregorovitch offered.

 

Rosalie nodded and looked back again at the two branches of wood in her hands, “I didn’t realise it would feel this profound.”

 

“The right wand will—it is a good sign you will be well matched. Come, I will begin crafting them,” He said holding his hand out for the branches. Rosalie handed them to him, but with the reluctance one might hand there wand to a stranger—which she supposed, in a fashion, she was. Gregorovitch nodded approvingly, “You will sit with me and tell me of how you see them coming together.”

 

Rosalie followed him obediently and conjured an armchair to sit alongside him at the workstation as he attached the first branch—the ebony—into a brace that sat atop his work bench. He conjured up an uncomfortable looking wooden stool to sit before it and placed his foot over a pedal beneath the bench, then, as she began to talk, he slowly began pumping the pedal with his foot and the branch, held tightly between the ends of its brace, began to turn.

 

Rosalie sat with him, talking and answering his questions, long into the evening as the sun inched its way across the sky and then dipped below the horizon. Wood shavings piled up at their feet as the hours ticked by and the two branches she’d picked from his chest slowly began to take the shape of a wand—her wand. The questions he asked her seemed to guide his hand, though at times seemed completely unrelated to the task at hand:

 

_“Night or day?” He’d prompt, not looking at her as his gnarled arthritic fingers moved in sure strokes up and down the constantly spinning piece of wood, freeing the wand trapped within._

_“Day,” Rosalie would answer, “No, morning! When the sun is just creeping up above the horizon and everything is still and silent as it’s washed in the first light of day.”_

_“Favourite subject at school?”_

_Rosalie pondered the question, “It used to be Defence Against the Dark Arts or Care of Magical Creatures. I haven’t been at school for a while though and recently I’ve taken an interest in healing. I found this book at this place I was staying for a while, it’s called the ‘ The A-Z Healer’s Companion’. I’ve been studying it in my spare time.”_

_Gregorovitch nodded._

_“Do you like potatoes?”_

_“What?”_

_Gregorovitch looked at her seriously, “I asked if you like potatoes...”_

Hermione stopped by from time to time to deliver them food, which Gregorovitch never touched, and tea, which he sipped at constantly. Rosalie avoided the tea where possible, it made her need to go to the toilet too frequently and Gregorovitch seemed to dislike the interruption to their work flow—though the beverage seemed to have no effect on him.

 

By the time they called it quits for the evening, Hermione was asleep on the couch, her arms tucked up tightly beneath her head due to the cold. The fire in their living space hand long since burned down to hotly burning coals too small to truly heat the room outside its immediate vicinity. Silence filled the room as the constant squeaking of the Gregorovitch’s foot pedal finally came to an end.

 

Almost at once Hermione lifted her head, sleep clouding her gaze, as if the absence of sound had awoken her.

 

“Is it done?” she asked, her words slurring together.

 

“For tonight,” Rosalie replied as she stood and stretched out her back, watching as Gregorovitch took himself off to bed without another word. Rosalie sighed, “You should go to bed; I’ll take over from Remus.”

 

Hermione shook her head, “No, I’ve had a couple of hours. You should get some rest.”

 

Rosalie nodded, “Okay, thanks.”

 

Hermione smiled and pushed outside to take over watch from Remus and for a moment after she’d left Rosalie stood there and stared at the wand that was taking shape before her. Her wand. The thought still felt so foreign. She ran her fingers over the now smooth column of wood and felt the tingle of power inside it as it sparked up her arm. The ebony handle spiralled up into the shaft of the holly which made up the majority of the wand. Ebony threads twisted up seamlessly from the base, twining around the holly, inlaid into the wood with such intricate craftsmanship that no seem could be felt between the two different pieces of wood.

 

It was beautiful. Rosalie curled her fingers around it’s smooth surface as she gripped the handle lightly, it’s energy dancing up her arm. Beautiful and powerful. Powerful enough, she hoped, to help her defeat the most destructive Dark Lord the wizarding had ever seen and walk away with her life.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a fair bit of time looking over these sites while thinking about what Rosalie's new wand should look like before I settled on a decision:
> 
> https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/wand-woods
> 
> http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Wand_core


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** So soon? I know, I'm surprised too :) 
> 
> Also, sending a big thank you to GhostTari for offering to beta read for me! You're a life saver!
> 
> ********************************************************* 
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> ********************************************************* 

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 

 

Gregorovitch muttered under his breath the entire time it took for him to pack up his workstation and exit the tent so that it too could be dismantled. Remus remained unswayed, seemingly oblivious to the older man’s blustering as he helped the two teens pack down their camp. Their lop-sided little tent went down with much less effort than it had gone up only a couple of days prior, but something in the way it had folded itself up made Rosalie suspect that it’s ‘tilt’ was likely permanent.

 

“Ready?” Remus had asked when the area was clear, stretching out his hands for Rosalie and Hermione to take. Rosalie was the only one to extend a hand to Gregorovitch and he’d accepted it reluctantly, his gnarled fingers slapping into hers with petulance only the very young and the elderly seemed to ever get away with. Seconds later they disapparated, that sucking pull Rosalie hated so much stretching over them and drawing them in tight only to burst outwards again as they rematerialised in a small clearing of lush green grass in a densely wooded forest.

 

Rosalie stumbled as she lost her footing, the world still tilting crazily around her as she came back to herself.

 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked as she gripped under Rosalie’s arm to steady her.

 

Rosalie nodded, “Thanks. I hate apparating almost as much as I hate travelling by floo.”

 

They glanced at their surroundings as Rosalie righted herself, her bag slipping from her shoulder to land with a soft thump beside her feet. Evergreen trees soared overhead so that the sky looked very far away from where they both stood. Utterly dwarfed by their stature, Rosalie tilt her head back, staring up at the small patch of pale blue that could be seen above them. In fact, trees encircled them entirely, packed tight like the palings of a fence so that even the cool light of morning was not yet high enough in the sky to penetrate the heavy mist that licked around their ankles. Dew lingered persistently on the foliage and the soft, thick grass beneath their feet wet the cuffs of Rosalie’s pants as she turned in a circle on herself staring in awe at the forest that surrounded them.

 

Rosalie inhaled deeply, taking the clean, crisp smell of damp earth into her lungs, “It’s beautiful.”

 

“Start setting up the tent,” Remus ordered unnecessarily as he made for the border of the trees where he would begin work on the wards. Gregorovitch grunted and wandered away from them, cutting a steady line through the mist, to plonk himself down in a conjured chair.

 

“It’s so peaceful here,” Rosalie continued as she pulled out her holly wand and began work reassembling the tent, “if Remus hadn’t apparated us here, you could almost believe that you were the only person in the world that knew such a place even existed.”

 

Hermione hummed her agreement, “I wonder how he came across it?”

 

“Probably as a wolf,” Rosalie replied reasonably, “You know I’ve thought about living somewhere like this? I could build myself a little cottage, far away from everyone and everything...”

 

“It’s very remote,” Hermione agreed, but her tone was dubious.

 

“It hardly matters when we can apparate anywhere we need to go in the blink of an eye,” Rosalie countered, “and at any rate, the whole point is that it’s remote.”

 

Hermione nodded, “I guess I can understand how that might appeal to you.”

 

Gregorovitch’s heckling tone interrupted them, “Are you putting up the tent or shall we sleep on the floor tonight?”

 

Both girls shot him a nasty look as he stared back unapologetically. The tent went up crooked. Rosalie cursed under her breath as she attempted to try and fix it, but no matter how many times she tried to make it stay in place it kept keeling over again.

 

“With my wand, you will not have the same problem,” Gregorovitch groused as he watched her struggle and Rosalie let her arms fall as the tent sagged back into place. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a sceptical look.

 

“How can you be so sure?” She asked as she turned fully to face him.

 

Gregorovitch scoffed, “Because that bit of wood Ollivander sold you? It was not made for _you_. You are merely suited to one another.”

 

Rosalie frowned as the old man pushed himself up and moved, on surprisingly nimble feet, to stand at her side. He snatched her holly wand from within her grasp before she had time to blink and Rosalie inhaled sharply as he ran it through critical fingers assessing the ‘piece of wood’, “What are you doing!?”

 

“Ollivander has always been such an uninspired sort of man,” Gregorovitch huffed, ignoring her spluttering, “His wands lack...imagination. The same tired woods with the same tired cores when there are so many combinations in wandmaking to explore.”

 

“That’s a rather large claim to make. Ollivander is considered by many people to be _the best_ wandmaker in the world,” Hermione challenged, “Perhaps years of experience have come to teach him what the most powerful combinations are.”

 

Gregorovitch grunted, “Just because Ollivander sells _the most_ wands, doesn’t mean he makes _the best._ His wands are reliable, yes, but they lack the true power that comes with _harmony_ —harmony between wand and wizard. Every piece of the wand I am making for your friend will resonate inside of her. Nothing picked off a shelf could possibly come close. This you will never understand, girl.”

 

Hermione looked put out and glared openly at Gregorovitch as he tossed Rosalie her holly wand and meandered back to his armchair.

 

“I don’t trust him,” Hermione muttered, turning her back on him.

 

Rosalie shrugged, “I can’t help but wonder if he’s right, though... My holly wand feels familiar and safe. The energy I feel when I touch my new wand, though... It’s different—s _tronger—_ and it’s not even finished yet.”

 

“Yes, but is it stable?” Hermione hedged shooting the man another wary look, “How do we know he’s not sabotaging it somehow.”

 

“If he could, I doubt Dumbledore would have ever agreed to having him make me a wand in the first place,” Rosalie replied reasonably, “but if it makes you feel better, we’ll give it to the Headmaster to look over before I use it.”

 

Hermione nodded, “I think that’s wise.”

 

Remus was still walking the perimeter of the camp, incanting his wards and protections as the three of them made their way back inside the tent. Hermione got to work on lighting a fire in the hearth as Rosalie trailed in after her. It took Gregorovitch next to no time at all to unpack his equipment once more and soon he was beckoning her over with an impatient hand. He seemed keen to get back to work, Rosalie thought—anxious, perhaps, to finish the job and return to his life of retirement.

 

He was inspecting his workmanship as she came to stand alongside him, running his fingertips critically over the now smooth wood of her new wand, assessing the intricate etchings where the ebony wood had been inlaid into the lighter grain of the holly.

 

“Sit,” he’s ordered without turning around, and Rosalie obeyed him without question.

 

“The wand core you choose can be tricky,” Gregorovitch began as he pulled a leather roll down from off of a high shelf. It was soft and supple with age and the leather lace that held it closed faded and peeling. His gnarled fingers tugged at the fastenings, unthreading the knot that secured it and then, with a flourish, Gregorovitch rolled it out flat along the bench.

 

Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she leaned in closer to peer at the contents, “Are these all...?”

 

“Different types of wand cores,” Gregorovitch told her, “More than the handful Ollivander uses, no?”

 

“There are certainly a lot of them,” Rosalie agreed as she ran her gaze down the length of the unrolled pouch.

 

“The wand core you choose is as important as the wood that encases it,” Gregorovitch continued as he eyed her shrewdly, “Some wand cores are temperamental, others flamboyant and impulsive...the chosen core is said to reflect the type of wizard who wields it. I do not know if this is always true, but there must be an understanding between the two, I believe, for reliable results to be achieved.”

 

Rosalie nodded, “So I pick one then? The same way I picked the wood?”

 

Gregorovitch nodded, “It will take me some time to carefully drill through the middle of the wand so that the core may be placed inside. You will use this time to choose the core that resonates with you.”

 

Rosalie nodded and began to pour over the range of potential wand cores before her. There were so many different options to choose from. Each one had been meticulously stowed away in their place, some with neatly written labels attached and others seemingly completely unaccounted for. The sheer variety was overwhelming: mermaid fin, unicorn hair, hippogriff claw, veela or banshee hair...the options were plentiful and varied.

 

It was tempting to pick up those that were beautiful and brightly coloured, but instead, Rosalie passed over what looked like a shimmering phoenix feather without a second glance and picked up a tuft of long dark hairs. They were thick and coarse like an animal’s and a little shiver passed through her as she wound them around her fist loosely.  It wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. Not really. There _was_ something awfully familiar about it though and as she ran her fingers over the run of hair wrapped over her knuckles there was a sense of stillness that followed. Perhaps it didn’t have to be ‘pleasant’ to be ‘right’? She found herself repeating the action thoughtfully, her fingers passing over the smooth swatch of hair again and again. It contrasted dramatically with the brash energy of the wood she’d chosen, but perhaps it would be a balancing influence? A moment of stillness in the midst of a great storm?

 

“May I hold my wand for a moment?” Rosalie questioned as she turned to Gregorovitch. To her surprise, his gaze was already on her.

 

He nodded once and sat back so that she could curl the fingers of her other hand around the wood—

 

_Yes._

 

Her eyes fell shut and her head tipped back in surprise as a low hum started at either point in her hands and spread throughout her warmly.

 

“Oh, wow,” She breathed softly.

 

“Now you understand what it is to have a wand that is entirely yours,” Gregorovitch told her gruffly.

 

Rosalie nodded as her eyes popped open once more so she could look at him, “If the difference is so pronounced, why doesn’t everyone get their wand made for them?”

 

“Money,” Gregorovitch told her plainly, “It is time-consuming and expensive to make individually crafted wands.”

 

Rosalie nodded again and let her hand fall reluctantly from the wood of her wand, looking back at the wand core she’d chosen.

 

“What is this?” she asked as she ran her fingers over the thick black hair again, “They were unlabeled.”

 

“Threstral tail hair,” Gregorovitch replied plainly, “A most intriguing choice. I know of only one other wand that has utilised such a wand core, that you would choose the same for your wand intriguing indeed.”

 

Rosalie looked at the black hair wound about her fist with new eyes, “Oh. Who did the other wand belong to?”

 

“It has passed through many hands,” Gregorovitch told her, “For a time, I too called it my own, but it was fickle and difficult to master. Unusually powerful, unlike any wand I’d ever seen or would see again. In the end, it was taken from me—stolen from my workshop in the dead of night—and no matter how I tried to recreate it, experimenting with the same combinations of ingredients, nothing I have ever crafted has come close.”

 

Rosalie frowned, “You mean it’s still out there? Someone else is using it?”

 

“Quite possibly,” Gregorovitch replied, “it’s quite famous among certain circles. Those who know of it call it the Elder Wand. It is one of Beedle the Bard’s Deathly Hallows.”

 

From the way he announced it, Rosalie assumed that she was meant to know who this ‘Beedle the Bard’ was, but she had no clue about him or his ‘Deathly Hallows’. She’d never heard of an Elder Wand before, but if it was true and this all-powerful wand _did_ exist, then she hoped You-Know-Who didn’t know about it. Truthfully, though, they sounded like something Gregorovitch had made up.  

 

“Well,” Rosalie said slowly, not sure how to proceed, “I guess mine will be the second wand you’ll see that uses Threstral hair—though it _is_ a bit of an odd choice...”

 

“Is it?” Gregorovitch prompted, “Are you not someone who will look death in the face before this war is through? An interesting parallel indeed.”

 

“Perhaps,” Rosalie shrugged, “As long as it’s not some kind of omen.”

 

 

*

 

 

There were signs that they’d indeed been there, perhaps even as recently as earlier that very day, but it was obvious as soon as Severus apparated to the appointed location that they were gone. Signs of their camp remained—a flatness over the ground where the tent had stood, remnants of a campfire and the lingering static of hastily dismantled wards—but certainly nothing to indicate that they were in any way expecting to return to the location.

 

Severus sneered, his voice a steaming hiss of anger, “ _Lupin_.”

 

If he were a less logical man he might have wondered what had prompted such an abrupt departure, but he knew exactly what this was: an attempt to separate Rosalie from him and shrewd timing on the wolf’s behalf. It rankled that his movements had been so predictable.

 

He should have made the trip the night Lupin had come to Hogwarts to confront him over Rosalie. He almost had, for a moment, instinct propelling him towards the door before rational thought and lingering anger slowed his step. The realisation that he was ready to place himself beside her, _really_ ready, and that he would remain beside her even when their relationship was revealed to their toughest critics had thrust him forward before it had occurred to him that following Remus back to the campsite then and there was likely a bad idea. Moreover, his simmering anger over Rosalie’s foolish actions had only mildly abated and it would have taken little prompting to stoke the flames higher once more. Time apart had done them both good to cool down, no doubt. That had meant waiting until the end of the school week though: Friday evening once his office hours were done and his time was his own once more.

 

Predictable.

 

With a snap of his robe, Severus turned on his heel and apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. It was not so late that Albus couldn’t be found in his office and ten minutes later, he was striding up the circular moving staircase that led to the Headmaster’s office.

 

“Severus!” Albus called in surprise, beckoning the Potions Master into the room, “I thought you were departing for the weekend?”

 

“I intended to,” Severus began as he came to a stop in front the large ornate desk that dominated the room, “I apparated out to the Forest of Dean to continue with Potter’s training only to find that they are no longer there?”

 

“Oh, indeed?” Albus asked, though his tone was light Severus could sense an underlying hint of unease.

 

Severus looked at him sharply, “You were unaware?”

 

Severus watched as a silvery phoenix burst from the tip of the Headmaster’s wand and shot off through the walls of the castle. Even an imbecile would be able to put two and two together and figure out what, or rather who, had prompted Albus to check up on them, but Lupin would have little choice but to answer the question if he didn’t want to raise his own suspicions. Leaving Albus out of the loop was sloppy, it solidified Severus’ opinion that the move hadn’t been planned but instead had been a rushed attempt to keep Rosalie sheltered from his influence. What else would he be willing to do? 

 

The thought made him pause.

 

Severus moved in calculated paces to the chair that sat across from Albus’ desk. Something monumental was shifting inside of him, coalescing into something bigger than merely a decision to move forward.

 

“Albus...”

 

The headmaster turned to look at his Potions Master and paused at something in the man’s expression, “What is it, my boy?”

 

“There is something you should know. Something I have been intentionally remiss in informing you,” Severus told him calmly, the words almost out of his mouth before he realised what it was that he intended to say, “The nature of my relationship with Miss Potter has changed.”

 

Albus eyed him pointedly over the rim of his spectacles, “How so, Severus?”

 

“It has been some months now since we have become, I suppose one might say, romantically involved,” Severus replied evenly, his expression neutral as he willingly delivered the news that he had so dreaded Albus finding out. It was a calculated risk, one that could potentially backfire spectacularly, but it would look worse if Lupin were the one to break the news before they were ready.

 

His confession, however, was met with a tense silence as the Headmaster kept his careful gaze on Severus’. His expression was unreadable and Severus felt sure that Albus was attempting to gain access to his thoughts, but if so, the attempt was too subtle to detect and he stared back into Albus’ diamond hard eyes as the other wizard assessed him, “And this was entered into consensually once Miss Potter became of appropriate age to legally consent?”

 

Severus nodded, “Certainly.”

 

“Are you in love with one another?” Albus asked him blankly.

 

Severus hesitated, his innards twisting uncomfortably at the frank intimacy of such a question, “I care for her. I believe that I am as close to love as I have ever come, as impossible as it may seem... I cannot speak on her behalf, though. We have not spoken of our attachment in such terms.”

 

“I see,” Albus replied when all at once his face crumpled, a look of profound sadness passing over him as he dropped his gaze, “It gives me great sadness to hear this.”

 

Severus felt himself tense up, a familiar dark cloud of emotion rolling in overhead as he stared back at his mentor, “It is as I suspected then; you are disappointed in me.”

 

“No. No, my boy, I am not disappointed in you, but perhaps in myself? Yes. I should have seen that this was a possibility when I pushed you towards one another. I’ll admit, Severus, that I did not think you had it in you to move beyond ‘James Potter’s daughter’ with our Rose, you have always managed to exceed expectations though, haven’t you?” Albus removed his glasses and swiped his good hand over his face, “I fear my short-sightedness will cause you both a great deal of pain...”

 

“What do you mean?” Severus asked as he sat rigid in his chair. Albus looked up at him again, despair roiling in his sharp blue gaze.

 

“It was always my intention that you would one day learn the truth, Severus. You are the only one I feel I can trust with the burden that I alone have carried now for some years. Perhaps to tell you now is cruel, but you must learn the truth and to keep it from you after what you have just confessed seems equally terrible,” Albus began and Severus knew that whatever Albus said next would taint whatever happiness he’d found so unexpectedly with Rosalie, “but first, my boy, I must ask you if you know what a horcrux is?”

 

Severus shook his head, “No.”

 

“A horcrux is a powerful dark object created by a magic so horrible that much of the knowledge ever generated pertaining to their creation was suppressed many centuries ago,” Albus explained carefully, “It is a dreadfully difficult topic to find information on, however, for a time we kept a book here, in the Restricted Section of the school’s library, that contained more knowledge regarding horcruxes than I was comfortable allowing people access to.”

 

Albus pulled out his wand and summoned a book from the highest shelf of his personal library. A thick black book sailed across the room to land on the desk before him and Albus placed a staying hand over the cover. Intrigued, Severus’ eyes flicked across the curled cursive that spelt out its title: ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’.

 

“When I realised what was contained within the book, I had it removed from the general circulation. The horrible acts of dark magic made available within this book were truly horrifying,” Albus continued, “As far as I knew it was the only one of its kind and so, for many years, I put it from my mind, knowing it was safely beyond the reach of those that would use its pages to harm others. Then Tom Riddle started at Hogwarts. I was suspicious of him on more than one occasion throughout his time at Hogwarts, but ultimately he wouldn’t pose any acknowledged threat until some years after he had graduated and moved on. You know the history of the Dark Lord’s first rise and fall, so I won’t rehash old history, but it was our suspicions in the days that followed the Dark Lord’s fall that I again thought of the book that sat on my shelf.

 

“You see a horcrux is an object into which a witch or wizard places a fragment of their soul in order to achieve immortality. It requires the murder of another living being, an act of the utmost evil. You know what it is to take a life, Severus. You know how damaging it can be to your psyche in the days following the event, but to set out with the intention to murder? To end someone’s life for one’s own selfish gain is to metaphysically damage one’s soul—to splinter it. To create a horcrux one must intentionally set out to cause such damage so that a fragment of one’s very life force can then be placed into an appropriate receptacle for safe keeping.”

 

“The Dark Lord’s artefacts,” Severus said with sudden awareness.

 

“Yes. It was still some years before I knew for sure what Tom had done. Twelve-year-old Rosalie Potter sat in my office and told me the story of how she’d slain a basilisk and defeated a boy named Tom Riddle who had come to life out of a diary. Quite astutely she stabbed the diary through its centre with the basilisk fang that had pierced her very arm—unknowingly using the only possible method she had available to her that could have destroyed the horcrux that resided inside Tom Riddle’s diary—but her story had left me we far more questions than indeed answers and I am only slightly ashamed to say that I used Legilimency on both Rosalie and Miss Weasley to piece together the remaining parts of the puzzle. I soon came to discover that Tom Riddle had made not one, but seven horcruxs. _Seven_ , Severus! Even once is considered unspeakable, but to split one’s soul seven times...”

 

“If you had the only book concerning their creation, how did the Dark Lord even come to know of their existence?” Severus asked.

 

“Tom Riddle truly is a decedent of Salazar Slytherin,” Albus replied sadly, “He is Slytherin’s Heir, one might say, responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets twice in the recent history of Hogwarts... Rosalie and her friends asked recently for access to the school in order to search the chamber in the hopes of finding another horcrux. What they found was Salazar Slytherin’s secret study. Inside was Slytherin’s private library and an ancient manuscript with an entire chapter dedicated to horcruxes. Alas, it seems my efforts were for naught and Tom found the information whilst still a student in this very school.”

 

Severus let himself think back to that night, to finding Rosalie hurtling through the forest as the fire burned out of control around them. She would have been carrying Slytherin’s manuscript in her bag that night, “And they all have to be destroyed before the Dark Lord can be defeated?”

 

“Ah,” Albus sighed, “and now we come to it...”

 

Severus watched as Albus visibly struggled with the words that were yet to come and a cold knot of premonition began to harden inside of him.

 

“As it turns out, the object chosen to become a horcrux need not be inanimate,” Albus began slowly, “Nagini for instance, is Tom’s final horcrux—”

 

“No,” Severus interrupted, busting from his seat as realisation washed over him in a sick wave prickly heat, “I will not accept it! You cannot seriously mean to say she...”

 

“Yes. Severus, I am sorry,” Albus confirmed, all the wretched despair written across his face as he implored his Potions Master to understand what he was telling him, “Rosalie Potter is one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes.”

 

Severus hissed, “Does she know?”

 

Albus shook his head, “It is my belief that neither is aware of the nature of their connection. I believe Tom intended the Potter’s deaths to be a ‘significant kill’ that would forge the creation of a new horcrux and the horcrux inside Rosalie was perhaps unconsciously made at the moment of his destruction. Her parseltongue was the first hint that something was different—then came the dreams and visions.”

 

Severus turned on him sharply, “How can you be sure it remains within her? Surely the basilisk venom in the Chamber of Secrets also destroyed the horcrux inside of her when it entered her bloodstream?”

 

Blue eyes that stared back at him sadly, “The horcrux is tied to her soul, while she lives it remains.”

 

_While she lives..._

Severus felt the floor shift beneath his feet and he swayed off balance.

 

_While she lives..._

Something heavy felt like it was pressing against his chest and for a second he worried he wouldn’t be able to draw breath...

 

“I’m not sure I understand—” Severus replied, “Are you telling me—”

 

“Rosalie must die for Tom Riddle to be defeated,” Albus confirmed softly.

 

Severus felt the blood drain from his face as he staggered, his knees buckling as he collapsed back into the chair behind him gracelessly. Bile fought to make its way back up his throat, hot and acidic, and he swallowed thickly as he forced it back down.

 

_Rosalie._

 

There was a buzzing in his ears, loud enough to drown out the world around him and he remembered suddenly how cold the night had been as he’d walked into the Potter’s house that night. He’d known before he’d even entered the house. He could hear the baby crying upstairs, loud hiccupping shrieks that echoed down the halls. He’d stepped over James Potter’s body without a second glance as he’d made his way up the stairs two at a time, rushing down the hall to where he knew he’d find Lily. The door caught on her arm as he pushed it open, but it wasn’t Lily’s body lying on the floor. It was Rosalie. His Rosalie, so still and cold with her hair splayed out around her where she’d fallen and her wide eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling.

 

_No._

 

He was breathing heavily, his mind plummeting with despair as grief crashed over him in wave after wave, sudden and fierce. He let his head fall into his hands, barely noticing Lupin’s wolf loping into the room to relay its message back to the Headmaster. His mind was a whitewash of noise. One thing was clear though: there had to be another way.

 

“I can’t accept it,” Severus insisted suddenly.

 

“You must,” Albus persisted.

 

“No, Albus. _You_ forced us into one another’s company time and again so that I might train her to survive. To _survive_ —time utterly wasted if you never intended for her to walk away from the final confrontation. You let me care for her—” Severus’s throat caught and he turned from the Headmaster abruptly, so that he could swallow around the lump in his throat. There felt like there was a gaping hole punched through his chest, raw and ragged, “I did not go through all that to watch her walk like lamb to the slaughter.”

 

“You must,” Albus told him again, standing to walk around his desk as he came to rest a hand on his Potions Master’s shoulder.

 

Severus shrugged it off and snarled over his shoulder, “Do not expect me to accept this, Albus. I will not.”

 

“Severus—”

 

“Tell me where they are,” Severus demanded, abruptly calling halt to the discussion.

 

“Severus, please. I did not tell you in order to cause you pain—”

 

“Tell me where they are, Albus,” Severus demanded again, his voice a snarl.

 

Albus sighed, knowing Severus would need time to come to terms with the reality he’d had years to accept.

 

“They are on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest where it borders Hogsmeade,” Albus relented, watching as Severus strode for the door, “Please know that I am glad you found each other. I’m glad that she will experience love before the end, but she mustn’t know, Severus. Not before it’s time.”

 

Severus paused in his march towards the door as he let that sink in, “She will never know if I can help it.”

 

 

*

 

 

Severus passed through the wards surrounding the hidden campsite with ease and emerged on the other side to a wand thrust sharply under his chin. He might have been impressed under different circumstances, but as it was he had little patience for her display.

 

“Identify yourself,” Granger’s voice hissed.

 

“Granger,” Severus returned, “Politely removed you wand from under my chin immediately.”

 

“How do I know you are who you appear to be?” She persisted.

 

“Because I knew where to find you, because I have passed through the Wolf’s wards without hindrance, because I have shown up in the middle of the night and can only be here for one reason,” Severus snapped, “I have no doubt you know what I speak of by now. Put your wand down immediately and let me pass.”

 

The witch hesitated a moment before reluctantly removing her wand from the soft underside of his chin.

 

“You were quick to act,” Severus acknowledged, “but if you truly feared an intruder you should have intervened before I breached the wards.”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

It was dark out and Severus glanced briefly around the camp, taking in his surroundings. Very little moonlight made it this far into the thick crop of surrounding trees and the darkness of the night covered them like a thick blanket.

 

“I’m glad you’ve come, Sir. Rosalie will be too,” Hermione offered as she trailed him back up to the tent.

 

“I see,” Severus replied as strode onwards to their poorly constructed tent. It sagged noticeably to one side and he wondered, as he pushed in through the main entrance, why no one had thought to fix it.   

 

Lupin was waiting for him just inside the doorway, “I thought I made myself clear when we last spoke.”

 

“Certainly, you did. Likewise, I believe I was equally succinct in my portrayal of ‘I don’t give a fuck’, Lupin. Yet here we are and still you seem unable to grasp the fact that Rosalie is an adult, as am I, and therefore your opinion has no bearing on our relationship.”

 

Lupin’s growl was more wolf that human and Severus subtly fingered his wand.

 

“Severus?”

 

They both turned at the sound of Rosalie’s voice and just the sight of her had Severus heart constricting painfully in his chest. She was a horcrux. She would need to die in order for them to win this war. His chest ached with the weight of his knowledge.

 

Rosalie was looking between the two of them, her eyes flicking between Severus and Remus with sudden understanding, “You know then?”

 

Remus nodded, “Yes. Yes, I know, Rose. How could you keep this from me?”

 

Rosalie frowned, “I never know where I stand with you from one moment to the next lately. You’ve been hot and cold with me all summer, Remus, but I knew this thing between Severus and myself wasn’t something you’d like.”

 

Severus looked down at her as Rosalie moved to stand beside him, presenting a united front to her self-appointed dogfather as he continued to glare at them.

 

“I didn’t tell you because I knew how you would react,” she continued, “and I was right. I appreciate your interest in my life and the fact that you feel somewhat responsible for me because you’re the only one left, but you are not my parent, Remus, you are not my guardian and you have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. Severus is right: I am an adult. I will be with whoever I choose to be and you can be my friend and support my decision or you can keep your opinions to yourself.”

 

“He is the same age as your parents, Rosalie!” Remus exclaimed, “For Merlin’s Sake! If things had been different he could have _been_ your parent! He was in love with your mother too, did you know that?”

 

Rosalie hesitated for the briefest moment, turning to look at Severus in surprise.

 

“Lily was my best friend, nothing more,” Severus hissed.

 

“Oh please, it was obvious to anyone looking at you,” Remus huffed, “The way you pined for her when she chose James over you was proof enough—”

 

“That’s enough!” Rosalie interrupted, her voice raised and her cheeks flushed, “Cut it out, the both of you!”

 

“This is my decision Remus, not yours,” Rosalie said quietly after a beat or two of silence, “While I understand you have reservations, please understand that while I will take them under advisement, the decision is mine and I have heard enough.”

 

“Fine, if you won’t listen to reason,” Remus said as he made to stride past them, “I am only looking out for your best interests, Rosalie. If your father were here, he would be absolutely appalled at the very thought of this.”

 

Severus drew breath to return the volley but stopped at the feel of Rosalie’s hand gripping his wrist. She shook her head, watching the wolf storm from the room.

 

“You came,” Rosalie offered softly when they were finally alone. Severus reached for her but she glanced away from him taking a step back and Severus let his hand fall again.

 

“Naturally, it was never my intention to stay away indefinitely,” Severus replied, his deep voice washing over her like a balm to the frayed edges of her soul, “I apologise if my absence led you to such a conclusion, I have responsibilities that kept me at Hogwarts.”

 

Rosalie nodded, unable to meet his gaze and the rising tide of emotion which threatened to choke her.

 

“I know,” She nodded as she made to turn in the direction of her room and away from the thick coils of tension that surrounded them, “But the way we left things, I thought perhaps I’d at least hear from you given I can’t leave Remus’ wards to seek you out. I mean, that’s what got us into this mess in the first place, isn’t it? I thought perhaps you meant what you said.”

 

“Perhaps in the heat of the moment, I was concerned for your safety—” Severus replied as his hand came to rest on her shoulder and his body stepping in close behind hers.

 

Rosalie shrugged him off, “Hermione said you were afraid.”

 

She could already feel her resolve crumbling, and she didn’t want to sweep it under the rug like everything else. Instead she pulled him into the privacy of her bedroom and shut the tent flap behind them.

 

Severus stared at her plaintively as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest, “Rosalie—”

 

“ _Yes_?” She snapped, her eyes full of fire as she stared up at him.

 

Severus heart was thundering in his chest. How could he be expected to stand by and watch her sacrifice herself to the cause? She was so full of life, this stunning creature that had chosen to give herself to him and whom he was expected to give up in return. There had to be another way, some loophole that Albus hadn’t thought of...

 

His dark eyes were as strained as hers as he stared back at her, “I apologise.”

 

Rosalie pressed her lips together tightly and shut her eyes against the emotion she saw in him, the halting hesitance of his voice, “Are you really? Or are you just—”

 

“Did we not both play a role in what has transpired between us?” Severus continued lowly, “I’ll admit that the way I spoke to you that morning was unduly harsh. I find it difficult to articulate my concern for your wellbeing in a manner sufficient enough to encompass all that your recklessness stirs in me. The thought that I had not reached you in time, that you were injured or... _deceased_ —”

 

Merlin the thought was abhorrent.

 

“You were afraid for me,” Rosalie stated plainly.

 

“Yes, is that so impossible to believe?” Severus admitted with his chest tight and heart thudding painfully—‘I am still afraid for you’, he thought to himself. 

 

Rosalie shook her head.

 

 “You can’t just snap like that and chastise me like a _child_ every time I do something you don’t approve off. I’m either your lover—your _equal_ ,” Rosalie implored, uncrossing her arms to gesture at the space between them, “or I’m not, Severus. I refuse to stand for anything less.”

 

“This is uncharted territory for the both of us,” Severus told her, “We are going to make mistakes and we’ll fight. We will not always agree.”

 

“I understand that,” Rosalie said pulling away from him again with a frown, “That doesn’t—”

 

“What else do you wish me to say? I have apologised for the way in which I spoke to you, have I not? I have admitted that it was uncalled for,” Severus interrupted, his voice lowered to a sharp hiss, “I can’t promise that I won’t react the same way in the future, I have been conditioned through time and experience bite back when threatened and you threaten my emotional wellbeing every day. You crept over walls I have spent a lifetime building and made me care, Potter. I am not used to caring and certainly not for someone who is constantly thrown in the path of danger, or in fact, seems to welcome the experience!”

 

Rosalie’s eyes were shining with tears as she looked up at him and Severus huffed out a sigh as he spun away from her, shutting his eyes against the unfamiliar flood of emotion that threatened to consume him.

 

“I can promise you that in future I will try to curb reaction,” He began again after a beat, “I can tell you that even when I’m upset, it doesn’t mean I do not care for you, even when I do not agree with the choices you have made. The effort cannot be solely on my part, however.”

 

Rosalie was nodding as he turned back to her, tears wetting her cheeks, “I know. I’m sorry, too. I knew as I left that what I was doing was going to make you angry, but I did it anyway.  I didn’t do it to hurt you, Severus, or to make you worry. I wanted to feel useful and I regret not speaking to Dumbledore about it first, but I knew he would send someone else and I wanted to do more than just sit in some old _dank house_ waiting to be taken off the shelf and be put to use.”

 

Rosalie swiped at her eyes, “Look at where it’s gotten us, though?”

 

Rosalie reached out a hand and Severus pulled her into his chest, her forehead coming to rest again his sternum.

 

“I hope not so far beyond repair that we cannot move on from this?” Severus replied lowly as his palm reached out to cup her face, tilting it upwards as his thumb rubbing gently across full lips that were damp and trembling softly.

 

Rosalie shook her head, lips pressing gently against the pad of his thumb as she lent the weight of her head into the palm of his hand, “No. Not so far...”

 

She was breathing heavily, her own chest visibly rising and falling with each shaky inhalation, as she stared up at him, her expression naked and unguarded, “ _I missed you_.”

 

He closed the gap between them with the weight of his hand against her face and Rosalie pushed herself up onto her toes, her hands coming up to encircle his face as they sealed their lips together urgently, gracelessly, their faces mashed tightly together with almost violent need. Rosalie gasped shakily against his mouth, her whole body quivering with emotion as gripped his shoulders. 

 

“Severus,” Rosalie breathed as Severus fingers combed back into the stands of her hair and tugged gently, fastening his mouth over her throat, sucking and kissing and biting his way down the soft column of flesh. He nosed gently at her thrumming pulse, a pulse that was pounding in her ears and her head as she clutched at him heatedly, pulling his face back up to hers as they stumbled back across the room.

 

“I have never cared for someone— _needed_ someone—the way that I do you,” Severus all but growled against her, as he kissed her with all the intensity—the _focus_ —that he usually reserved for brewing. His words made her heart stutter and Rosalie bit at his lower lip, dragging her teeth across the tender flesh as her shaking hands gripped at his face and moaned against his open mouth.

 

The bed rushed up to meet them as they collapsed onto it, mouths hot and devouring as they immediately coiled around one another. Rosalie hitched her legs up around his waist urgently, rolling her hips into his as she arched against him.

 

“Yes, yes...” She agreed breathlessly, between kisses and hot slide of his mouth against her face before Severus sat back on his haunches, pulling her with him as they dragged her shirt from her body in a tumble of long hair and warm limbs.

 

Rosalie reached for the buttons on his robes the minute her arms were free, loosening them quickly and efficiently as she stared up at him through the tousled mess of her hair, lips swollen and eyes shuttered with need. Severus thumbed those lips again, pressing in against the plump heat of her kiss-warmed mouth as she pushed his robes from his shoulders and closed her lips around the tip of his thumb, sucking lightly.

 

Nimble fingers tugged his shirt tails free and danced over the heated flesh of his flank as he brushed the hair from her face and kissed her again with a shaky moan. Severus pressed her back into the bed as he freed himself of his shirt and rutted his hips down against her as she rolled up to meet him, luxuriating in the warm slide of her soft breasts against his chest as she undulated beneath him.

 

“Rose—” he gasped breathlessly as he palmed the weight of her breast in his hand, her nipple a firm point against the heat of his palm.

 

Rosalie moaned and pressed herself into him, fingers digging in through his hair as she encouraged him lower. Severus went willingly, one hand braced against the mattress beside her head as he lowered himself over her, tongue flicking out to encircle the crinkled peak of her breast as he sucked it into his mouth.

 

Rosalie moaned brokenly, eyes fluttering with need as she looked down at him suckling at her breast, tongue swirling restlessly beneath the suction of his mouth. Sighing in a quivering breath she pressed her leg up between them, rubbing her thigh against the heated hardness between his legs gratified at the body deep moan that vibrated through him at the simple touch.

 

Severus rocked against her, panting, forehead pressed against her sternum now as she kept steady pressure against him, her fingers coiled tightly in his hair as they both shuddered with need, “ _Severus_...”

 

“Rosalie.”

 

Rosalie felt the press of his lips against her thundering heart as large hands moved to bracket her ribs, thumbs teasing at the underside of her breasts as his open mouth skimmed its way down her body. Warm fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants and Rosalie let her hips cant up as pants and underwear were unceremoniously dragged from her body leaving her entirely bare and shivering with a need that was bone deep.

 

Severus dropped the discarded pants beside the bed and crawled back up over her, hooking one leg up and over his shoulder as his tongue made a broad swipe from perineum to clit.

 

“Ah—” Rosalie gasped, hips bucking as her fingers found purchase in his hair, legs falling open, “Severus...”

 

Severus hummed as his tongue circled her clit, sucking it into his mouth as he’d done her breast as his hands gripped her thighs, keeping her open to him as she twisted beneath him with pleasure. Her breath coming in sobbing pants as she pressed her hips up into his face shamelessly.

 

“Rose,” he rumbled again, the words muttered against slick flesh, the thick scent of her arousal filling his senses as his tongue bisected her folds, slippery with want, as he licked and sucked at her opening, nose nudging at her clit as he all but feast on her.

 

Rosalie was shaking, unable to remain quiet as her empty passage began to rhythmically clench with need, begging to be filled, drawing in tight as it prepared to tip her over the edge, “Severus, _please_ —I need—”

 

Severus pressed a kiss against the soft skin of her inner thigh, following her urgings as she tugged at his hair, beckoning him up her body and back to her mouth, soft and open as she tongued at his lips and mouth, her hands dropping to the fastening of his pants. They pushed them off easily, discarding them as carelessly to the floor as they had hers.

 

Never breaking their kiss, soft and needy now, as Severus hitched one of her legs up over his hip and reached down to position himself at her entrance. Rosalie canted her hip up to meet him, breaking the kiss only to sigh heavily as he sunk into her.

 

Severus’ hand drifted up to cup her neck gently, his thumb sweeping over her jaw as they held perfectly still, his cock throbbing heatedly inside her as they traded plush kisses back and forth.

 

“Severus,” Rosalie moaned softly, between wet lips, “I want to feel you, please.”

 

Slowly Severus began thrusting into her, the wet slide of his cock dragging against her slick heat so good that he felt his eyes to roll back into his head, a broken moan forced from between his lips, “Urgh, Rose...”

 

Severus looked down at the woman beneath him, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the small frown of concentrated pleasure creasing her brow and the way her mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’ of ecstasy as every thrust into her body drew a gentle gasp from within. Her hands were everywhere at once, clasping the back of his neck, sliding down the flexing muscles of his back to clasp at his clenching arse, before sliding back up his body to rake through his hair as she pulled him close, her mouth meeting his, dragging him under.

 

They were hardly being quiet, the pace between them building and growing until the bed was being flung against the flimsy tent wall and the smell of sex permeated the entire room. Severus knew that Wolf was out there somewhere, probably able to smell their coupling, despite the discretion of a silencing charm, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t care about anything other than the hot slide of her body against his, the reverent way she moaned his name and clung to him needily as the slap of his hips against her slowly turned her thighs and rump pink.

 

It felt huge—momentous even—as the pressure between them built. Severus could feel it in the way her legs lifted to clench around his waist even as her fingertips were gentle against his face. He knew it in the way she kissed him tenderly even while his hips thrust furiously into her warmth. To risk losing her was unacceptable, he would love her the way he had loved none other before her and would love none other after her. She would consume him utterly and he would relish every moment of her domination over his heart.

 

His hips stuttered as she began to clench around him.

 

“Oh, it’s perfect—” Rosalie groaned loudly, her mouth a hot slide against his neck, “It’s perfect. Keep going—Sev!”

 

He felt her inner muscles snap closed around him, the bite of her nails in his arse only adding to the pleasure as she orgasmed around him, inner walls fluttering and pulsing erratically as he continued to thrust through her clenching channel. Severus held her tightly as her cheeks flushed pink with release. Her eyes blinked open afterward to stare at him languorously before she was pulling him down into her mouth again, lips soft and needy as she licked her way into his mouth, clenching her muscles around him as he chased his own release.

 

It didn’t take long. Her hands were in his hair, her needy gasps still ringing in his ears as he thrust himself into her two, three, four more times until the tidal wave of his completion broke shore. Severus moaned into her neck as he emptied himself inside of her. He felt her smile against him and Severus pressed a kiss into the soft skin beneath his mouth.

 

Rosalie pushed up into him, rolling them across the bed together in a tumble of limbs. Severus smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, her body stretched out across his as they kissed lazily. The sweat was cooling on their bodies when Severus rolled her over again until she lay half beneath him, soft and sated and staring up at him with eyes so warm and tender it was almost a physical caress against his soul.

 

“Rosalie,” He whispered again, pressing a gentle kiss into the tender skin under her jaw, trailing gentle kisses down her neck and shoulder languidly.

 

“I don’t like fighting with you,” She told him again after a moment, fingers once more in his hair.

 

Severus sighed against the curve of her neck, before rolling back into the pillows, “Nor I.”

 

Rosalie rolled with him, pressing her cheek into his chest as she hooked a leg up over his hips. Severus curled his arm around her shoulders, fingers trailing absently against her upper arm.

 

“We should get dressed,” Rosalie sighed, “I share this room with Hermione since Gregorovitch took hers. It’s almost time for Remus to takeover her watch...”

 

Severus held out his hand and wordlessly summoned his wand. It slapped into his palm and then without another word he erected a host of privacy charms over their bed and the space immediately surrounding it.

 

“Is your wand almost complete?” Severus asked conversationally as he laid his own wand on the bed beside them. Rosalie nodded as she reached out and ran her fingers over the dark wood carefully. 

 

“Is this ebony?” She asked, looking up at him curiously.

 

“Yes.”

 

Rosalie flushed, “Oh...my new wand is made of holly and ebony. I guess it makes sense really, that the wood of your wand would resonate with me. It’s a combination of the two now... it’s the core that’s special though, Gregorovitch says he’s only ever seen one another wand successfully use the same core. Apparently it can be difficult to master, but so far we haven’t had any problems.”

 

“What core did you choose?”

 

Rosalie shrugged, “Threstral tail hair.”

 

Severus felt himself go cold, “Threstral?”

 

Rosalie nodded, “I know, it seems pretty ominous doesn’t it? Omen of death and all, but I have seen plenty of threstrals in real life and I’ve never put much stock in omens. I think they have a bad reputation, really, I rode one halfway across the country and I’m fine.”

 

Severus felt himself nodding, but it was like another nail in the coffin of her future, a future where Rosalie Potter had to die. Severus shut his eyes and turned his face into her hair breathing in her warm vanilla scent. It was just like him to have found happiness, only for it to have it ripped away again. Nothing in this life was easy. He would fight for her though; he would do everything in his power to overthrow her destiny and see that she made it out of this alive. He could accept nothing less.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Thanks again to GhostTari for the read through! Thank you also to all the lovely people who have left me reviews and kudos on this work! I know I don't respond you you all individually, but I read each and every comment and your words are what keep me writing even when I am in a slump! So THANK YOU!
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> _Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
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**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

 

 

Hermione had not long cast a warming charm over the area surrounding her when she heard the tent flap shift and Remus stepped out into the night. He looked tired and worn, the dark shadows beneath his eyes extending down his face as he let out a jaw-cracking yawn and rubbed his hands together briskly.  

 

“Hey,” She greeted softly as he ambled over to where she was seated, “You look tired, are you sure you’re up to this?”

 

Remus waved her off.

 

“I’m fine. I’m no worse off than I am the morning after a full moon, but... you should head inside and get some sleep—you can use my room if you like,” Remus told her as he ushered her out of her chair so that he could take her place.

 

Hermione rose slowly, shooting him a questioning look, “You’re room?”

 

“If the idea of sharing with the two of them is too much for you,” Remus clarified and the sight of the confusion wrinkling her brow.

 

“Oh,” Hermione frowned, the word coming out in a soft exhale that hung between them like smoke as she stepped aside for him, “Should it be?”

 

Remus’ eyes flicked to hers, quiet and assessing, “I suppose that depends... you support them then?”

 

Hermione nodded carefully, “I support Rosalie’s decision.”

 

Remus stared at her a long moment, tired amber eyes pinched with thought as he absorbed her words. The night was clear and crisp, the moon in just the right position to cast a gentle light over their camp despite the trees that surrounded them, he could see her expression clearly and she was watching him with a shrewdness that told him she wouldn’t be swayed.

 

“You don’t think he’s too old for Rose? He’s more than twice her age,” Remus asked searchingly, “You think Rose could be happy with someone so... _Snape?_ He’s the last person James would have chosen for his little girl—or Sirius for that matter.”

 

Hermione watched him for a long moment, recalling the sound of raised voices that had drifted out from the tent earlier after Snape had arrived. Remus’ disapproval had been clear, as was the fact that he was now looking to her for support.

 

“I was always under the impression that you thought well of Professor Snape, even if you didn’t really like him,” Hermione replied softly as the werewolf sunk tiredly into the chair that she’d just vacated, “At least, you were civil to one another and you respected his position within the Order, unlike Sirius whose disdain for Snape was obvious. I thought you were more level-headed than this.”

 

“This isn’t about tolerance, Hermione,” Remus said with a shake of his head, “but, you’re right, to a point. Snape and I have had our differences over the years, but there was never outright hate on my part the way there was for James or Sirius. This is different though. This is Rosalie. To have the audacity—”

 

Remus cut himself off abruptly as he let his head drop with an exasperated sigh.

 

“How could either of them think that this is okay? That people would just accept it?” he continued after a moment, “It’s selfish of Snape to shackle her to him in such a way... You are both still so young and naive—everything feels like love when you’re seventeen and in a relationship for the first time, Hermione, trust me. Rosalie may think she is in love with him now while she is sequestered away in hiding while the rest of the wizarding world is at war, but what about when she is able to step back into the world and he’s there like an albatross hanging from her neck? She could have anyone she wanted and instead—”

 

“That’s not really the point though is it?” Hermione returned, “She _could_ have anyone she wanted, but she wants _him_. Rosalie is not blind to who Snape is, in fact, she probably knows him better than anyone. It’s not like they are permanently binding themselves to one another. If he makes her happy, why should it matter to you?”

 

Remus peered up at her as though the very thought pained him and sighed, “Because the choices she makes now could have consequences later.”

 

Hermione was shaking her head.

 

“I know Snape isn’t the most conventional choice, but he’s Rose’s choice and, well if I’m completely honest, it’s none of our business. Surely you can see that she’s been good for him, though?... He’s changed since he’s been with her,” Hermione told him frankly, “I get that it’s a lot to take in and perhaps I’ve just had more of an opportunity to get used to the idea, but he listens to her, he understands her and he’s supported her through everything she’d had to deal with over the last year or so... I think their relationship just evolved.”

 

“You’re both still so young,” Remus frowned, “how do you know what you really want when you haven’t had the opportunity to try anything else?” 

 

“Youth doesn’t preclude us from knowing our own minds. By that logic, how can you say that Lily Potter really knew that she wanted to marry James? They were younger than Rose when they started dating and they left school and got married. You’ll only push her away if you aren’t careful, Remus,” Hermione offered sagely, “Just be happy for her and let it go.”

 

Remus watched as she waved goodnight and disappeared into the tent then scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face.

 

“How has this fallen to me, James?” he whispered morosely as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form behind his eyes.

 

‘I’m only trying to protect her,’ Remus reflected as he settled back into the chair. Perhaps not unexpectedly, thoughts of Tonks surfaced in his mind and Remus huffed out a bitter laugh at that parallels between Tonks and Rose. His own situation wasn’t all that dissimilar, it would seem; he a werewolf shunned by society and Tonks the younger woman who was vying for his attention.  Unlike Snape, however, he cared enough for Tonks to not be her albatross.

 

“I won’t let it go, James,” Remus whispered into the night, “She deserves more.”

 

 

*

 

 

As he laid awake, dawn less than a handful of hours away, Severus stared up into the dark canopy of their bed, distant sightless eyes swallowed by the darkness around him. Like an old friend returned to him, insomnia had settled in and despite the deeply familiar plumes of fatigue that washed over him, he was no closer to sleep than he’d been an hour ago, or perhaps even an hour before that. His mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts with no obvious answers, driven by a distant buzz of panic. There was no clear path forward and for once in his life, he was held captive by indecision, immobilised by the fear that there _was_ no answer.

 

Severus tightened his arm around her, his fingertips sliding over a bare shoulder as he pressed his cheek against the top of Rosalie’s head. She was laying almost half on top of him, her cheek pillowed on his chest, heavy with sleep. She sighed as he tightened his hold and shifted against him, her body pressing closer.

 

He was at a loss. Clearly, he needed to know more about Horcruxes if he was to make progress with a solution—for that he would need to borrow Albus’ book—but the question he really needed the answer to was how they would destroy the Horcrux without destroying Rosalie. The Dark Lord could not be allowed to continue, but Rosalie... the familiar gaping maw of grief inside him silently yawned, its jaws stretching wide around his heart.

 

“ _Potter_ ,” he whispered softly. It was easier to think about her potential end when he thought of her in terms of ‘Potter’ instead of ‘Rose’. It created just enough distance that he was still able to _think_. Severus looked down at her again, her dark hair laying in a tumble over the arm he had curled around her, face peaceful with sleep as he considered the fact that Albus expected him to let her go—to let her perish—for the sake of the Wizarding World.

 

It was abhorrent.

 

Somehow, almost without his knowledge or consent, she’d managed to crawl in past every one of his barriers and safeguards to carve out a place for herself inside of his heart. She occupied more space within him every day. How cruel fate was to have given him this only to try and steal it away again. He’d known though, hadn’t he? Before they’d even started, he’d known.

 

“Severus?” Her sleepy voice questioned as she tilted her head back, her green eyes slow with sleep as she blinked up at him, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” he lied, his voice soothing, “Go back to sleep.”

 

Rosalie turned in the circle of his arms and it was only as she broke his hold that he realised he’d been gripping her shoulder. A warm hand slid up his chest as she peered down at him, “Tell me.”

 

Her thumb was stroking back and forth over his sternum as long elegant fingers brushed over his nipple. Severus picked up her hand and laid a kiss on her palm and then threaded their fingers together.

 

“Nightmares,” he replied finally under the weight of her concerned gaze. It was half true after all, only this particular nightmare wasn’t unfolding while he was asleep.

 

She made a sympathetic noise of understanding and warm lips pressing against his chest as she soothed him. It was like a hot brand against his soul, calming and inflaming all at once. Severus turned them onto their side, sinking down the bed with her until they were in better alignment to tangle themselves back together in a knot of long limbs and warm skin.

 

“I told you,” He whispered gently, stroking his hand against the thigh slung over his hip, “it was nothing.”

 

“It was not ‘nothing’,” she replied softly, her lips skating against his as she cupped his jaw, “I know what they can be like, Severus. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always.”

 

Severus shut his eyes, overwhelmed to feel a lump of emotion catching in his throat. He kissed her, his lips brushing gently against hers in a barely there press of lips.

 

‘Maybe not always,’ he thought to himself, looping both arms around her back to clutch her to his chest.

 

They stayed like that until morning broke and gentle light began to filter into the room, Rosalie drifting off to sleep once more within his coiled embrace.

 

 

*

 

 

Rosalie thought about the number of times she’d woken up in Severus’ arms and wondered if one day, should they remain together even after the war, if she might tire of this feeling?

 

Her eyes were closed still as she pressed herself back into Severus’ warm chest, the last traces of slumber falling away as she became fully aware of her surroundings and the feel Severus wrapped around her. There wasn’t a lot of room in her tiny little bed—it was half the size of the spacious double that they’d shared at Grimmauld Place—but she found she didn’t mind. It had forced them to remain close to one another during the night, tangled together in their sleep instead of stretched out across the expanse of the mattress beneath them. One of Severus’ arms was thrust beneath her pillow, the other looped around her middle with his hand loosely curled against the mattress and the sloping arch of her ribs. She could feel his warm steady breath against the back of her neck and the hair of his thigh against her skin where his legs pressed into the crook of her knees.

 

Rosalie smiled. It was a pleasant way to wake up, even if they did share the room with her best friend who was sleeping in a bed identical to hers just across from them. Truthfully, Rosalie was surprised that Severus was okay with it given how protective of his space and his privacy he usually was, but not even a token protest had been made before he’d wrapped her in his arms pulled the covers over them. Thinking of her friend, Rosalie lifted her head and spared a quick glance in Hermione’s direction. As far as she could tell, the brunette was still fast asleep, almost lost beneath her bedding except for the unruly tuft of frizzy hair that could be seen poking out from beneath the blankets.

 

‘Who’d have thought I would end up here?’ Rosalie mused as she slipped quietly from the bed and Severus’ embrace. She pulled on her clothes methodically and tugged her long hair up into a quick bun atop her head and then tiptoed across the room to the door. The hour was late—much later than she’d normally rise—but the tent was still and silent as she padded on silent feet to the kitchen.

 

It was her favourite time of day, these quiet moments to herself—usually just as the sun was rising when the horrors of the night before had been chased away and the day was made new for her to start again. Even now, when she’d spent the night in Severus’ embrace and the nightmares had been kept at bay, there was something renewing about this time and she found herself feeling hopeful about the coming day as she went through the motions of preparing a pot of tea.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Rosalie startled mildly and spun around at the sound of Remus’ voice behind her. He was standing just inside the entrance to the kitchen, the long cold hours of the night he’d spent on watch written across his tired face. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath his eyes and his normally bright eyes were faded and dull.

 

“Remus,” Rosalie greeted with a sigh, “You startled me.”

 

Remus nodded and sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, “Can we talk?”

 

Rosalie hesitated and turned back to her tea preparations to allow herself a moment to collect her thoughts. She wanted to say no, she wanted to tell him that she knew what he was going to say and that she didn’t want to hear it, but instead, after a moment, she picked up her teacup and slid into the chair across from him, “Okay.”

 

Remus sighed at the defensive tone of her voice, “I don’t want to fight with you, Rose, that’s not what this is.”

 

Rosalie shrugged and looked down at the steaming cup in her hands, “Neither do I. I feel like that’s all we ever do, though, Remus. You seem to expect things from me lately that I constantly fall short of achieving.”

 

“It’s been a difficult few months for us,” Remus agreed tiredly, “I know I’m not your parent—I’m not even officially your godfather—but I care about you like you’re my own. I hope you know that. You’re my pack, Rose, and I only want what’s best for you.”

 

“You’re important to me too, Remus,” Rosalie replied softly, offering him the barest hint of a smile.

 

“Then surely you can understand how I’d find this news of you and—” Remus swallowed thickly and looked away, “you and _Snape_ difficult to swallow.”

 

Rosalie shook her head, “Not really... What should it even matter so long as he treats me well? Which he does, he’s a _good man_ , Remus.”

 

“A ‘good man’?” Remus repeated and shook his head, “Rosalie, a ‘good man’ isn’t someone who starts a relationship with a girl less than half his age. You have so much of your life ahead of you, yet here you are, barely above the legal age of consent and already plunging headlong into a sexual relationship with someone who has held a position of authority over you for half of your life! I worry that it’s not _healthy_ —”

 

“Oh, please,” Rosalie sighed, rolling her eyes, “It’s not like that—”

 

“Isn’t it?” Remus countered, reaching across the table between them to take her hand in his, “Look at what impact this relationship has already had on your life. Look at us, Rose; look at the strain between us. We used to be able to talk to one another, but now I find out you’ve been lying to me for months, presumably because you were too afraid to tell me the truth? We are so at odds with one another at any given moment that we can barely converse without things devolving into an argument...”

 

“I’m sorry that things have been difficult for us, Remus,” Rosalie offered in conciliatory tone, squeezing his hand, “but—”

 

“I’m not finished, Rose,” Remus interrupted as he looked across at her pleadingly, “Then there’s Ron Weasley. I can only assume this thing with Snape is the reason behind your fall out with him too?”

 

Rosalie looked away, tugging her hand back out of his as she leant back into her seat, “Ron is obsessed with the Girl-Who-Lived. He decided he was in love with me and won’t accept the fact that I don’t return his feelings. It’s got nothing to do with my relationship with Severus. I thought you understood why he left; I thought you agreed that it was better that he had some distance from us for a while?”

 

“I still do,” Remus agreed with a nod, “Knowing what I do now, though? His behaviour starts to make more sense. I seem to recall Ron having a rather large dose of suspicion and mistrust for Snape.”     

 

“Ron has always hated Severus,” Rosalie stated blandly.

 

“So did you once upon a time,” Remus pointed out, sending her a meaningful look, “My point is that your attachment to Severus is forcing a wedge between you and the other people in your life that care about you—people who love and support you.”

 

“Ron doesn’t even know about us,” Rosalie scoffed, shaking her head in disagreement, “If there is a wedge come between us, Remus, it’s not due to anything Severus’ done.”

 

“I disagree. I don’t think you see it,” Remus replied, “You’ve changed, Rose.”

 

“Is that so hard to believe? That I might change given the circumstances I’ve been forced into?” Rosalie huffed with incredulity, as her back snapped straight and she threw her arms out as if to emphasise her point, “You forget, Remus, that you don’t actually _know_ me all that well. Apart from the time we spent together in third-year—when I thought you were just my _teacher_ —we’ve seen each other—what? A handful of times between then and the beginning of this summer? Letters aren’t the same. Of course, I’ve changed...”

 

“Under Snape’s careful tutelage it would seem,” Remus agreed.

 

Rosalie shot him a glare, “You know what? Perhaps if our relationship is suffering it’s because _you_ won’t accept that Severus is a decent person who is worthy of my time and affection or because you won’t respect that it’s _my decision_ who I chose to be in a relationship with. For Merlin’s Sake, Remus! This is _Severus_ we are talking about, it’s not like I’ve taken up with some random Death Eater! Severus is not some Dark Wizard trying to lure me away from my friends and family so that he can hand me over to the Dark Lord. You know him better than that, don’t pretend that you don’t. You’re beginning to sound just like Ron! Severus may have been a Death Eater at one point, but he’s been our spy in their midst for longer.”

 

Remus sighed and scrubbed a tired hand over his face, “You are wilfully misunderstanding what I am saying...”

 

Rosalie shook her head disapprovingly and took a careful sip of her tea, “No, I’m not. I understand what you are saying perfectly well.”

 

“It’s not just that Snape has a dark past, though I won’t pretend that isn’t part of it,” Remus continued full of exasperation, “Ultimately, I trust that Snape is on our side. My concern is you. You are young and full of life and you have your whole future ahead of you. You don’t need the stigma of someone like Severus Snape weighing you down. Even after all this time as Dumbledore’s man Snape has retained a certain reputation. He is seen by many as a Dark wizard and is generally neither trusted or well liked...”

 

Rosalie crossed her arms stubbornly and stared back at him, “I would have thought you of all people would understand how a _stigma_ doesn’t necessarily reflect the person under it. What does his _baggage_ matter if I’m willing to carry it? I have baggage too, Remus, perhaps more than he does. Maybe if you understood that, you’d be willing to give Tonks a chance.”

 

“This is not about Nymphadora and me,” Remus denied, “I don’t want you to come to regret the decisions you make now when you are forced to live with the consequences later. You’ve never been in a real relationship before, Rose, and while it’s new and exciting at the moment, that will wear off and then you’ll be left with a middle age man with a sour attitude for life who is stuck living in the past. You forget that I have known Snape a lot longer than you have, I know what he’s like and this _attachment_ to you is completely out of character.”

 

“Oh, really?” Rosalie hissed, “That couldn’t possibly mean, I suppose, that I _mean_ something to him?”

 

Remus shook his head, “Perhaps if it weren’t for his history with your parents—”

 

“I am not my parents, Remus,” Rosalie told him firmly.

 

 “ _I_ know that Rose,” Remus pushed, “Does he?”

 

“Of course he does,” Rosalie shook her head in exasperation, “My parents are dead. I don’t even remember them and yet somehow people seem to think they still have some bearing on how I live my life! Severus has nothing to gain from using me against them for some petty revenge, if that’s what you’re thinking—they are g _one_!”

 

“I’m not so sure it’s so simple...”

 

Rosalie hissed as she pushed back from the table sharply to stand over it, “Yes it is. They are gone and I am here. It is as simple as that. Not everything in my life has to come back to them. I’m sorry that you miss them, Remus, but I _will not_ live my life second guessing every decision I make just because you’re worried they wouldn’t approve.”

 

“Rosalie...I wasn’t lying last night when I told you Snape was in love with your mother,” Remus continued watching as she pressed her lips together and shot him a poisonous glare.

 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—” Rosalie snarled.

 

“Did you know that they met before they even came to Hogwarts? Severus and you’re mum? They lived in the same neighbourhood and remained friends even after they were sorted into different houses at Hogwarts. They still spent most summers together at your mother’s house. Lily was always kind to Snape, even when others weren’t and he worshipped the ground she walked on. His attachment to her was borderline obsessive. Of course, everyone loved Lily, she was bright and beautiful and popular, even with those outside of her year level. It was easy to get caught up in her attention and Snape was so _odd_ that he was always a bit of a loner. He hated it when she spent time with anyone who wasn’t him and he would sulk around the places she spent time with friends, waiting to catch her attention again. It drove James mad and he picked on Snape mercilessly for it.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he was in love with her,” Rosalie pointed out sharply, “and I know very well the kinds of awful pranks Sirius and my father played on Severus—”

 

“ _He was in love with her_ , Rose,” Remus insisted, his tone equal parts tired and beseeching, “When James and Lily started going together Snape came right out and begged Lily not to be with James. It was too late though, she was in love with your father and she turned Snape down. Harsh words were spoken and their friendship was never the same afterwards. Snape went Dark after that, I mean he had always had one foot on the Dark side before that, but he fell into a bad crowd after their falling out which eventually led him into the Dark Lord’s service—and let me tell you, he went willingly. I won’t have you believe that Snape was bullied into taking the Dark Mark; he was a full and willing participant to all that You-Know-Who and his followers engaged in. He once, wholeheartedly, believed in the philosophies and teaching of that madman that would see people—like your mother and Hermione—labelled an abomination and killed for sport. It was only after learning that Lily had become a target that Snape began to change his tune and switched sides again to turn spy for Albus. Despite everything, when it came down to it, Snape loved her still... and probably still does.”

 

Rosalie stared back at his earnest gaze, “Even if what you are saying is true, she’s dead. What does it matter?”

 

Remus sent her a sympathetic look, “ _You’re_ not dead. Perhaps you’re the closest thing to Lily he’ll ever get and the temptation was just too much to say no to.”

 

Rosalie glared at him, feeling the sting of his words like a knife in the chest, “That’s a _horrible_ thing to say.”

 

Remus held out his hands, “I’m not trying to hurt you—”

 

“But you are!” She snapped at him, her tone brittle, “You’re hurting me now—”

 

“That was not my intention. I only want to make sure your eyes are open to the truth, Rose,” Remus sighed, “There is proof of what I’m saying.”

 

Rosalie didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at him.

 

“Did you know that the shape our Patronus can change? Often they are a reflection of our hearts and will change form to echo that which represents what we hold most dear. Lily’s Patronus changed from a bird to a doe when she fell in love with James, whose Patronus, like yours, had always been a stag. Severus’ Patronus, however, _even after all this time_ , is still a doe. Nearly twenty years later it is still a reflection of his love for Lily Potter.”

 

Rosalie glared at him darkly and it was with a start that she realised her hands were shaking, “I think you’ve said enough.”

 

“Rosalie—”

 

“Just don’t,” She bit out harshly.

 

“Just promise me you’ll at least consider what I’m telling you?” Remus implored, as she turned her back on him and began busying herself with preparations for breakfast, “Don’t just dismiss what I’m saying because you don’t like what you’re hearing.”

 

Rosalie didn’t respond. She could feel his eyes on her back and, for a few long tense minutes, she ignored him, refusing to turn around or acknowledge him until the sound of his retreating footsteps could be heard. Once she was sure he was gone, Rosalie let her head fall into her hands. She drew a wobbly breath, her mind a horrid maelstrom of fear, doubt and chaotic anger as the poison of Remus’ words washed over her. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest and a fine tremor ran through her hands as the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body began to bleed out of her leaving her cold and shaky.

 

Turning, Rosalie quickly made her way out of the tent abandoning breakfast midway through its creation as she dashed for the door feeling trapped—trapped by Remus’ words and the tiny makeshift kitchen where they had been given voice. She knew that what he had said had been intended to throw doubt, but she hated that it had worked. She _knew_ Severus cared for her, though there had been no explicit declarations. Severus wasn’t the type to declare his emotions like that and she hadn’t been expecting him to. She could feel the way he cared for her in the way that he touched her and way that he looked at times when they were alone. The very idea that he was looking at her and seeing her mother was both appalling and painful, but the smallest voice inside her couldn’t help but wonder. What if Remus was right? What if he was in love with her mother and she was just the next best option?

 

It was cold enough that her face stung as she stepped out into the freshness of the morning and Rosalie breathed in deeply, the cool air rushing into her lungs as she let her head fall backwards. When she opened her eyes again, it was to the small patch of sky overhead.

 

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

 

It was unbearable to think of, but _what if_?

 

Was she kidding herself believing this thing she had with Severus was something more? Ron doubted her, Remus doubted her... Hermione was the only person who’d shown the idea of them any support.

 

Was she just seeing what she wanted to see in him?

 

Her doubts plagued her for the rest of the day. The more she resolved to put the matter from her mind, the more it seemed to invade her thoughts until she was so distracted that even Gregorovitch refused to work with her until she’d ‘sorted herself out’.

 

Severus’ eyes watched her keenly. Rosalie could feel his weighty gaze on her—‘Dreaming about red hair, perhaps?’ her inner voice prodded nastily and Rosalie felt her stomach roll—but she avoided him as best she could without trying to be too conspicuous of the fact she was. He allowed the distance, but somehow that was worse. It felt too much like a confirmation that she meant nothing to him. She wanted him to confront her—to pull her aside and ask her what was wrong!—but he gave her space, letting her orbit him at a distance as she agonised over everything Remus had said.

 

She believed it and she didn’t. She didn’t want to, she didn’t _think_ it was true, but what if it was? What if he was right? Surely she would know?

 

It was his Patronus that was giving her pause. Rosalie had seen it not even a handful of times before, but she could picture it clearly in her mind’s eye: his doe. She’d always thought it an odd form for the charm to have taken on, so incongruous with Snape’s personality that she’d wondered about it after she’d first seen it. She’d never asked him about it; now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer...

 

Rosalie felt sick with indecision.

 

“Will you tell me what’s troubling you?” Severus asked finally when the evening was waning and she could no longer reasonably avoid him, “Or shall I take myself back to Hogwarts and give you your space?”

 

“No,” Rosalie replied, “I don’t want you to leave.”

 

“Indeed?” Severus questioned, as he conjured a chair and took a seat beside her outside the tent where she would be on watch for the next six hours. The shadows of the evening were growing darker by the minute, with no fire lit outside the tent for light, her face was washed grey as he looked across at her furrowed brow, “I thought our disagreement had been resolved before we retired for the evening last night. Yet I awoke alone this morning and you have gone to lengths to avoid any contact between us for an entire day.”

 

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Rosalie replied sulkily as she pulled at a loose thread from the rip in her jeans.

 

“You were mistaken, I mind a great deal,” Severus lowered his voice, the rich cadence of it capturing her almost as much as his words, “You seemed not to want my company, however, and I would not force it upon you.”

 

“No, Severus... That’s not it. I just—” Rosalie looked up at him with heavy eyes, surprised by the intensity of his focus as she opened her mouth to say: “It’s something Remus said to me.”

 

“I see,” Severus replied, his voice full of resignation, “and you are now having doubts about the realistic longevity of this relationship?”

 

“What? _No._ Are you?” Rosalie asked with concern, suddenly wondering if she wasn’t the only one who might have been swayed by doubts. It made her realise that as much as she had doubted his motivations for being with her in the first place, she had never doubted the fact that he desired her.

 

“No,” he replied sternly.

 

Rosalie sighed reaching out, to place her hand on his thigh, “Good.”

 

“Then tell me,” Severus encouraged, his own hand lowering to rest atop hers, covering it entirely.

 

Rosalie exhaled in a rush of built-up anxiety, “Remus implied—well, no actually—he _told_ me that the only reason you had any interest in me was because... because you are in love with my mother, that you’ve always been in love with my mother, and I am merely the closest thing to her that you’ll ever get.”

 

Rosalie held her breath as she stared across at him, waiting for his reaction, but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t even flinch. He looked steadily back at her, his focus never wavering as her words hung between them.

 

_Merlin._

 

“And you’re concerned that perhaps he is correct and that I am indeed carrying a torch for your long deceased mother,” Severus responded dryly as he stared neutrally back at her.

 

Rosalie stared up at him, “I want to believe it’s me that you are in this relationship with and not her ghost, but every time I tell myself I am being stupid for worrying over something so ridiculous, the doubt creeps back in and I wonder if it doesn’t make some horrible kind of sense?”

 

“That is absurd,” Severus informed her matter-of-factly, “I assure you, your mother has never entered my thoughts when we’ve been together. Nor are you a placeholder for my affections towards her. To think so is preposterous and somewhat insulting to us both.”

 

Rosalie’s fingers tightened on his leg as she worried her lower lip. Her heart was pounding out a heady rhythm in her chest, “But he... he told me about your Patronus, Severus.”

 

“My Patronus?”

 

“It’s a doe,” Rosalie breathed, “It’s the same as hers was. Remus told me what that meant. He said my mother’s changed too when she fell in love with my father.”

 

“Changed?” Severus queried.

 

“Because she fell in love with him,” Rosalie clarified.

 

“Am I to understand that you believe mine also changed for the same reason?” Severus asked her pointedly, “If so, then you would be incorrect. I did not achieve a corporeal Patronus until some months after leaving Hogwarts as a student.  There had been very little happiness in my life up until that point and thus producing a corporeal Patronus beyond my grasp to achieve. Eventually, when I did manage, it was due to the memories of my childhood friendship with your mother. Therefore, my Patronus became a doe.”

 

Rosalie licked dry lips, “You weren’t in love with her then?”

 

“No,” Severus stated firmly, “I was never _in love_ with Lily, but I once...cared deeply for her because she was my best friend—my only friend—and a refuge from all the ugliness in my life. It is true, for a time, once we hit a certain age that I fancied myself taken with her... but it was a fleeting fantasy that had no real basis. Things between us were never romantic, no matter what Lupin would have you believe.”

 

Rosalie was staring up at him with wide aching eyes as he took up the hand that was still gripping his thigh and turned it palm to palm with his own, “Surely you realise that you were... entirely unexpected, Potter. While our relationship is by no means typical, it is not a substitute for something greater. I agonised over you. I struggled with myself over the things you have made me feel and whether or not they were ‘right’—in the end, it didn’t matter. I want you: more than is decent and more than what’s ‘right’.”

 

Rosalie was nodding her head in agreement.

 

“Merlin, Severus, the very thought of you with anyone else—especially her makes—me sick with jealousy,” Rosalie told him as she moved from her chair into his, pressing herself into his warmth, her arms encircling his neck as she climbed atop of him. Rosalie allowed her forehead to rest against his as she felt him magically widen the chair beneath them to make room for her legs to sit comfortably astride his own.

 

“Perhaps now you are beginning to realise what it will truly mean to be linked with me,” Severus told her quietly as stroked a thumb over the length of her jaw, “Our relationship will be continually cast in doubt. Aspersions towards my character will, no doubt, be _numerous_... You should decide if this is really what you want. I have told you I will place myself beside you, but it would appear that you remain somewhat uncertain of where you stand.”

 

Rosalie shook her head, her hand lifting to slide against his, keeping it pressed against her face, “I know where I stand, Severus.”

 

“I am merely suggesting that there will be others who feel as strongly as Lupin does,” Severus continued, “If you remain unsure in anyway—”

 

“I’m not uncertain,” Rosalie told him firmly as she took his mouth with her own, a quick hard press of lips against his, “I know where I stand and it’s beside you. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

 

Severus’ hand left her face to grip the back of her head as Rosalie made to lean back out of his personal space and a shaky smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she leant back in. His breath ghosted across her lips as she hovered over him, two hands on his face, as she kissed him gently. All the pent up worry and frustration she’d harboured throughout the day finally finding their release as she trembled against him and brought their lips together again and again.

 

“I am not handing you an ultimatum,” Severus reiterated after a moment, breaking away from her to sweep the hair back from around her face carefully, “Nor am I asking that you promise yourself to me in any binding manner. There is no question this _shouldn’t_ work, Rosalie, and though it physically pains me to admit it, Lupin is not wrong to harbour concerns regarding the practicalities of our relationship. It was impossible to have imagined that we might find ourselves here; no one is more surprised than I that we have managed to navigate ourselves to this point. Lupin’s mistake is expecting that I would cave to his disapproval. In this matter, outside of my own interests, the only other person whose opinion I care about is yours...”

 

There was a hard lump in Rosalie’s throat and she swallowed around it, eyes fierce as she started into Severus’ dark gaze.

 

“Severus...” Rosalie pressed the words into his mouth.

 

Severus avoided her advance, his thumb sweeping over her open lips, “Perhaps what I am asking—poorly it would seem—is that you truly take the time to consider if this relationship is worth the potential risks it poses. There are easier paths laid before you and I would not fault you should you decide to take one.”

 

Rosalie frowned, sitting back from him abruptly to stare at him in shock as his hands fell away from her face, “I... _what_? How can you say that? How can you tell me that you care enough to face potential public harassment with me one moment and in the very next breath tell me you wouldn’t care if I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle?”

 

“I never said I wouldn’t care,” Severus snapped, eyes suddenly fierce enough that her outrage was immediately quelled, “I said I would understand if you chose to explore other options.”

 

Rosalie considered his words, weighing their meaning as she stroked her hands over Severus’ shoulders and down his arms. She supposed there probably _were_ easier paths she could have taken—paths that might not yet be entirely beyond her reach.

 

Rosalie recalled eager hands and sloppy kisses that left her feeling empty.

 

Where would she be now if she’d returned Ron’s kiss the Library that day? What would have happened if she’d chosen to turn her back on the riotous feelings Severus had begun to stir in her and chosen to let Ron be enough?

 

Her friendship with Ron, before this summer, had almost always been easy and uncomplicated. Would a relationship with him have been the same? Rosalie tried to picture a life where Ron was more than just her best friend, but the image was hard to grasp onto—thin and insubstantial. Rosalie tried to imagine herself straddled comfortably over Ron as she currently was across Severus’ lap or wrapped tightly within her friend’s arms at night, feeling sheltered by his strength. It felt bizarre to even consider, both awkward and absurd. Ron felt like such a boy compared to Severus man. Perhaps, her days might have been filled with simple conversation and easy camaraderie, but life with Ron would have lacked the burning passion she felt just breathing the same air as Severus. Ron paled in comparison to the towering presence of Severus in her life. Right from the beginning, even before the lessons that would force them to move beyond the blind animosity that drove them, Severus had always been there, orbiting on her peripheries. He’d been an undeniable presence in her life from almost the moment she’d stepped foot on Hogwarts’ grounds, incapable of being ignored or dismissed and nothing they’d been able to achieve since then had come without effort.

 

Her relationship with Severus had been wrought from a place of mutual sufferance. Like a blacksmith slowly heating and shaping the dull steel that he would slowly forge into an elaborate blade, they had smouldered in the hot coals of their anger and circumstance and railed against one another, fighting the process every step of the way as they unknowingly bound themselves closer and closer. Then, without her even realising what had happened, barely concealed disdain had become tolerance, tolerance had become reluctant understanding and eventually, understanding had morphed into mutual respect. They had grown together, fought together and confided in one another until, like the blacksmith’s steel, they’d bonded themselves so closely that Severus felt like he had become part of her.

 

Rosalie looked down at the hands resting in hers—large and capable, clean and dry—and carefully threaded her fingers through his.

 

Severus’ eyes were on her when she lifted her gaze again.

 

“Perhaps there were easier paths I could have taken, but _none_ of them would have been _this_ ,” Rosalie said as she squeezed his hands gently, “We’ve worked through so much to end up here and maybe we’re not something that others will approve of but I don’t care. You understand me like no one else, you challenge me like no one else and you make me feel things like no one else. So you see, I know exactly what I’m ‘risking’ with this relationship, Severus, and the minute it stops being worth it, I promise I’ll tell you.”


End file.
